The Unexpected Partner
by WinterIsComing01
Summary: When an injury confines FDR to his desk and the control room, Tuck is left to handle the infiltration and busting of the Russian mob on his own...until Collins introduces his new partner on the case. When he sees who it is...he can't believe his eyes. They're like oil and water until they're forced to save each other's lives.
1. Chapter 1

Loosely based on This Means War. Please read and review!

**Chapter 1**

"You ready, mate?"

Tuck glanced over at his partner and best friend, FDR, in the unmarked black SUV they were in. The interior of the vehicle had been gutted to accommodate various high tech surveillance equipment and two extra agents.

FDR grinned at him, adjusting the collar of his suit jacket.

"Absolutely, my friend," he replied. "Let's do this."

They hopped out of the van and crossed the street toward the strip club. Tuck reached up to adjust the practically invisible earpiece he wore in his ear.

"Check," he said curtly.

"Roger that, sir," crackled the reply in his ear. FDR conducted a similar check and gave Tuck a nod as they continued their rapid jaunt across the street.

The Las Vegas night was comfortably cool in the April air. Tuck sent up a quick prayer of thankfulness; the weather allowed him and FDR to wear long sleeve shirts and jackets. Perfect to conceal their wires and variety of weaponry.

Finally they reached the doors of the club. The newest strip club to open in Las Vegas, located just a couple miles from the Strip, was called the Glass Slipper and it was rumored among their informants and the chatter they picked up in the LA CIA office that there was a huge, underground drug traffic being run by the Russian mafia.

He glanced over at FDR, who was grinning from ear to ear. Tuck discreetly threw an elbow into his solar plexus.

"Try to calm yourself," he muttered under his breath. "Remember we're here to work."

"I know," FDR exclaimed. "But part of going undercover is to mingle and mix in. How out of place will I look if I don't get at least one lap dance?"

Tuck rolled his eyes. The man was incorrigible.

The bouncer was going to make them go to the back of the line, but Tuck produced a subtle folded hundred dollar bill which he clasped into the man's hand, shooting him a pointed look. The bouncer glanced down at his hand, taking in the currency, and then met Tuck's gaze. He jerked his head toward the doors, pulling the velvet rope over to let them pass through the stanchions.

"Good man," Tuck said, clapping him on the arm as he stepped around the bouncer.

He was pleased to see that they wouldn't be patted down for weapons. That was what their intel had told them, but there was always room for error. This was supposedly a "classy" strip joint, catering to white collar businessmen and high-roller upscale tourists, hence the need to dress in fancier clothing. He had selected a crisp lavender button-down which he wore slightly unbuttoned under a charcoal gray pinstripe suit. FDR had chosen a baby blue button-down, claiming it brought out his eyes, and wore it under a light heather gray suit. They definitely looked the part and were armed with CIA-sponsored bankrolls. The latter had been commissioned by none other than FDR himself, insisting earnestly to Collins that if they were to truly be accepted and fly under the radar, they would need to be issued the bankroll for tips. Tuck still hadn't figured out exactly how he'd gotten that one to fly, but nonetheless, he had a thick wad of cash in his pocket. He certainly didn't plan on using it, but, he noted with irritation, FDR already had several bills out and ready to go, just in case, in his hand as they made their way through the club.

It was relatively early for the Saturday night crowd; at eleven-thirty, the crowd was still pretty mellow. Things would pick up closer to one.

Tuck knew that the owner never put the strippers out before midnight. During the evening hours, he had what he called "go-go dancers" on the stages. To Tuck, they were glorified strippers. They didn't take their clothes all the way off, but they were dressed skimpily and danced sexually on the poles. Their intel had also told them that the Russians showed up around midnight and always started their "business meetings" with drinks and lap dances for about an hour before they gradually disappeared into the back room. Their activities ranged from counting money, to organizing product, to meetings with informants. He and FDR were there for whatever they had planned; if they could get the money, great. If they could get the product, even better. If they could interrupt informant meetings, that might be the best outcome of all. Unfortunately, they had no idea what was happening tonight, so they had no choice but to wait.

They grabbed a table near one of the stages. It was currently empty but strobe lights were starting to flash, the DJ announcing to the skimpy crowd that a dancer was getting ready to take the stage.

"Drinks!" FDR said over the DJ, grinning at Tuck.

"Just one," Tuck warned, his crisp British accent clipped as he took in the crowd. From what he could see, these guys were the run-of-the-mill businessmen and vacationers. Other than the dancers, waitresses and bartenders, there were no women in the club.

A cocktail waitress came over to take their order. FDR ordered them two scotches. Tuck nodded his approval and returned to scanning the crowd.

"You bring an extra mag tonight?" FDR asked while they waited, somewhat sarcastically. Tuck noted his tone and flashed his friend a smirk.

"Why do I need to?" he asked, smiling charmingly. "You always seem to have enough to go 'round."

FDR shook his head and rolled his eyes. The waitress returned, setting down one of the fanciest paper napkins Tuck had ever seen before removing their glasses from her tray and setting them gently in front of them. Tuck politely nodded his thanks while FDR gaped at her openly. That was one thing about Las Vegas – from the dancers to the strippers to the game dealers to the cocktail waitresses, there was no shortage of beautiful women.

His attention was drawn to the stage when the dancer finally appeared. She was "fully clothed," if fully clothed could be interpreted as a sheer black, boxy loose shirt under which she had on a red and white striped bustier, a pair of tiny black shorts, and thigh-high black boots. The dancer had golden olive skin that glowed under the lights and long, thick wavy dark hair that was covered by a black New York Yankees cap. The flat bill of the cap was pulled down low, masking her eyes.

FDR let out a low whistle. "If her face is anything like her body..."

Tuck hated to admit it, but her body was fantastic. As she started dancing, to some overtly sexual song called "Birthday Cake" which Tuck immediately picked up was a loosely couched metaphor for cunnilingus, he couldn't help admiring the curves of her hips and rear, her legs long and tight with muscle. Her tummy, just barely visible under the sheer boxy top, was flat and tight.

For a moment he completely forgot what he was there to do, so lost in her moves he was. The driving beat of the song, sort of hip-hop meets techno, guided her choreographed movements as she bent over at the waist, slinging her head around. She dropped low to the ground, then slowly swirled her hips as she rose back up, her hand sliding up between her legs. She was slowly making her way down the stage toward the pole in the middle. When she reached it, she whirled around, simultaneously pulling the cap from her head and replacing it so the bill jutted out from her head, pointing to the back and to the right. He was finally able to see her face. As he and FDR were seated at the table closest to the end of the stage, and there were hardly any other patrons in the room, she locked eyes with him immediately. He couldn't make out their color, but they were large, almond-shaped. Her nose was slim, delicate, ending above a pair of lusciously pouty lips. As they met gazes, he realized his breath was caught in his throat. She sensuously pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she bent over at the waist, her legs straight, and reached between her legs to grip the pole. She raised herself upright, still not looking away from him, and he took in the way her back arched so that only her curvy rear end and shoulders were touching the pole.

"Good Lord," FDR breathed beside him. He was gaping at the dancer. "Let me get this straight, she's not gonna take her clothes off?"

"She's a go-go dancer," Tuck replied, unable to look away from her as she rotated to face them head on and slid down the pole, her knees bending and opening. "She's not a stripper. Therefore there is no stripping, mate."

"She deserves some dollars anyway," FDR huffed, tossing back the rest of his scotch and rising to his feet. "Come on."

He moved toward the stage and Tuck quickly followed suit, downing his the rest of his own drink. He chided himself mentally as he walked after FDR. He was working, after all; now was not the time to get caught up in something so frivolous.

He stood beside FDR at the foot of the stage, the dancer now crawling seductively on her hands and knees toward the outstretched bill that FDR clutched between his fingers. She reached him and rose up on her knees, taking the bill with her teeth. She reached out with one hand to run it through his hair while the other slowly pulled the bill from her teeth like she was pulling butter off an artichoke leaf. She shifted her gaze back to Tuck, and rolled over on her knees, tucking the bill into her bustier. She ended up on her back in front of him, propped up on her elbows as her legs lifted straight into the air before him. As he watched, her legs slowly spread apart and she writhed rhythmically to push herself down the stage, her long legs moving gracefully. He didn't move as she reached the edge of the stage, one of her legs dangling off the edge. He suppressed the urge to jump when he felt her other leg wrap around his waist and tug. He had always thought this sort of thing was against the rules at places like this, but no one said anything.

Her leg forced him to lean down toward her, his hands on the stage on either side of her as he balanced. Suddenly a bill brushed his lips and he glanced over, seeing FDR extending a bill toward him, that same stupid grin on his face. He bared his teeth briefly, indicating that Tuck should take the bill between his teeth. Tuck rolled his eyes, but as his hands were otherwise busy holding him up, he took the bill with his teeth and turned back to the girl.

Her hand slid up his chest to grip the lapel of his suit jacket and pulled him closer. He looked into her eyes as she stared up into his. He was close enough to see that they were a unique shade of cool blue-gray, ringed with black. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her lips parted as she brought her face close to his. He could feel her whisper soft breath on his skin, smell cinnamon on her breath as she delicately took the bill from his teeth with her own. Her lips practically brushed his in the process.

He gulped as she pulled away, rolling over again. This time, she gave him her back and rose to her hands and knees, arching her back and pushing her rear-end toward him. She rolled her hips in a circular motion before hopping to her feet in a crouched position in front of him. She put her hands on her knees, glancing at him over her shoulder, the bill still between her teeth, and gyrated her hips slowly as she rose in front of him. He couldn't stop staring at her ass, inches from his face. She rose to her feet and glanced back at him again before sashaying back down the stage. When she reached the curtain, she whirled around to face them, her eyes still locked on his, and withdrew the bill from between her lips. As she turned again to exit, her hand clutching the bill lightly slapped her rear end and she flashed him a flirty grin before disappearing.

Tuck was hardly aware he was still standing there, staring after her, until FDR tugged his arm, laughing at him.

"Come on, dude," he said. "Let's go sit back down. You need another drink, I think."

Tuck didn't even try to argue as FDR flagged the waitress. He had never had an experience like that before. He'd never really been into strippers like the other agents at work were; he'd been to strip clubs but it was mostly to laugh at the other guys, FDR especially. Granted, she wasn't a stripper officially but the way she danced made his stomach get warm and clench up.

FDR was laughing openly at him. He took the drinks from the waitress when she reappeared and shoved Tuck's scotch over to him. His friend scooped up the glass wordlessly and drained it in one gulp.

"So much for professionalism," FDR couldn't help teasing.

"I am professional," Tuck insisted, clearing his throat. Her lips flashed through his mind and he quickly shook his head to clear it of the image. He glanced around the club, noting that it had begun to fill up. He saw several familiar faces coming through the door – familiar because he had their pictures in various case files that were on his desk back in LA.

He immediately put his game face on. He was pleased to see that FDR looked intensely focused as well as he returned Tuck's glance with a terse nod.

"Let's work," Tuck said curtly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Anatoly Kozlov has entered the premises," the voice crackled over into Tuck's ear piece. He flickered his eyes across the room and started when he saw the go-go dancer from earlier sitting on the lap of the Russian mob boss. She was no longer wearing her hat and her hair flowed down her back in messy waves. The Russian had a meaty hand wrapped around her hip and had a glass of vodka in the other. Tuck watched as he toasted his mates to a chorus of loud cheers.

"We should move, now," FDR said in a low voice next to him.

"Too soon," Tuck hissed back, not taking his eyes from the dancer and mob boss. He felt his eyes widen as he saw a tiny object in her hand. She lifted that hand around the Russian's shoulder, smiling as he fed her a sip from his glass of vodka. Her fingers trailed in the hair at the back of his head but Tuck didn't miss her fingers deftly press against the Russian's suety neck for a brief moment.

Tuck's eyes narrowed as the dancer stumbled off Kozlov's lap as he toppled over out of his fancy bar stool. She started screaming. A very applause-worthy performance, Tuck thought wryly, mentally clapping his hands for her. He started to slowly move in her direction.

Kozlov's brother Boris rushed forward to his downed brother, screaming. Boris was Anatoly's underboss, next in line to inherit the empire he'd created. Though he was also giving an applause-worthy performance, Tuck couldn't imagine that he was particularly upset at this turn of events.

He needed to find out who this dancer really was.

The club, meanwhile, had exploded into chaos. As the large Russian seized on the floor, the waitresses ran screaming, dancers disappeared backstage, and security rushed inside.

"Dancer," Tuck said to FDR, who nodded. He'd also seen the dancer jab the tiny needle into the Russian's neck. Tuck ran toward the back of the club while FDR headed for the front. Over his shoulder, Tuck saw FDR get stopped by security.

_Shit_, Tuck thought, but he knew that FDR could handle himself. He'd have to. He scurried into the back of the club, pushing waitresses aside. He spotted a dancer and grabbed her arm. She shrieked in fear.

"Where's the dancer in black? The one that was with the Russian?" he demanded, shaking her lightly.

The girl gaped at him but pointed shakily over her shoulder toward a back door. It was hanging open. He pushed the girl aside unceremoniously and rushed out the door. He glanced around in the dark. The back door opened to an employee lot, where a few cars were parked. He listened hard, hearing what sounded like heels slapping the pavement and took off in that direction. He rounded the edge of the building and saw her, running down a short alley.

"Hey!" he shouted. She didn't slow but whirled to look at him over her shoulder. "Get back here!" He started down the alley after her, but stopped short when he heard shot ring out from inside the club. He saw a side door in the brick wall next to a dumpster and hesitated, looking between the door and the dancer.

_FDR, _he thought frantically. He looked over at the girl. She was smiling as she reached the lip of the alley. She lifted a hand to hail an oncoming cab. As he was yanking the door to the club open, she opened the door to the cab. Her eyes found his once more, and she grinned before ducking inside and taking off.

Tuck ran back into the club and stopped short again before he ran into a hail of bullets. He pulled his Glock 27 from the holster at the small of his back and dove behind the bar. The poor bartender was crouched in a sobbing, wailing heap. He risked a chance to poke his head up, seeing FDR sending shots from behind the DJ booth. Tuck allowed himself a moment of relief that his best friend was all right before firing toward the group of Russians on the other side of the room. He suddenly realized why this club had no metal detectors or weapon check – the guys were packing Uzis and H&Ks and other automatic weaponry.

_Click_.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, going dry. He stuck his head up. "Mag!" he bellowed.

"Fucking hell!" he heard FDR shout, and a moment later a mag came flying through the air in his direction. He reached up and snatched it out of the air and slammed it home, charging the weapon before swinging his arm out to fire again. He caught one of the Russians in the chest. He saw three more escape through the front door.

_Fuck! _That was sure to be a whole other host of problems.

His eyes swept across the club. It seemed that Anatoly was done for, still laying in a heap on the floor.

He counted one, two, three mafioso bodies. Something wasn't right about that...

_There were four shooters..._

He popped up like a prairie dog from behind the bar and saw the fourth Russian mobster sneaking up toward the DJ booth, his Uzi extended. Pointed. At FDR.

Tuck aimed and fired, and missed. The wily bastard had ducked. Meanwhile, FDR had whirled and clocked the Russian in the nose with his gun. Blood sprayed as the Russian stumbled back and grabbed his nose. He lifted the Uzi one-handed and got off a shot before Tuck dropped him with a well-placed shot. FDR gripped his arm just above the elbow, hissing in pain, but otherwise all right.

He waited another moment, looking around to make sure it was really clear. Now that the gunfire had ended, he could hear the moans and cries from the patrons and employees. He and FDR stepped out of the respective places as the cops began to enter the building. The cops left them alone as Tuck knew they would; they'd already been contacted that the CIA was going to be in the area.

Tuck grabbed FDR's arm, and winced at the gushing blood from the bullet wound. FDR was pale, breathing harshly.

"You get her?" FDR panted.

Tuck gestured around himself. "You see her anywhere, mate?"

"Shit," FDR rolled his eyes. "Boris escaped and a handful of his crew escaped."

Tuck didn't even bother to say anything. He just shook his head and put his hands on his hips. The whole reason for their little trip was to take the Kozlov brothers as a pair, preferably alive; Boris was easily as dangerous as Anatoly had been, if not more. But they couldn't even take credit for Anatoly.

"Collins is gonna have our asses," he muttered. "Let's get that arm taken care of, mate."

:O:O:O:

They were back in LA, back at the CIA office. They were at their desks – well, hiding out, if Tuck was going to be honest. He felt like they were two naughty children, hiding from their mother. But Collins could definitely be a scary woman when she wanted to. And this was definitely going to be one of those times.

"How's the arm?" he asked FDR.

FDR glanced at him before glancing down at the sling. The bullet had chipped his bone and there had been some temporary nerve damage done. He was going to be sidelined for at least eight weeks. And he was not happy about it.

He glared down at his injury. "It fucking hurts," he spat back. Tuck wasn't offended; he knew the anger wasn't directed at him.

"Just a short couple months, mate," Tuck said as cheerfully as he could muster. FDR wiggled his head with false enthusiasm before turning back to his computer.

Tuck started rifling through the files on Boris Kozlov and his notes from the club. His thoughts shifted back to the dancer, to the assassin, really, who had escaped him. He just couldn't figure out who the hell she'd been, why she'd hit Anatoly. He was going to bring it up to Collins as soon as she –

"Tuck. Foster. My office. Now."

The clipped words brought them both up sharply, looking upward. She stood at the railing on the second floor and motioned sharply toward her office.

Tuck and FDR heaved identical sighs as they both rose from their chairs at the same time.

"Shall we, then?" Tuck asked sarcastically.

"Fun times," FDR returned irritably.

They walked up to Collins' office and inside, seeing her perched against the desk with her arms crossed over her chest.

They had barely sat down when she started in.

"Just want to be sure I get this straight," she started. "You were sent in to get the Kozlov brothers, some information on their drug ring, and get the hell out. But instead, you had a shootout which resulted in various civilian casualties, you lost Boris, and Anatoly got hit by some unknown." She lifted her eyebrows at them.

Tuck's mouth dropped open. How the hell had she found out about the unknown assassin? FDR started to sputter wordlessly.

Collins held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I need you two to sit tight for a few days while I figure out how to clean up this mess. Boris has all but disappeared from our radar and we need some time to pinpoint his location. All drug operations have apparently been suspended since that club is now destroyed." She looked at them pointedly.

"Ma'am, that other assassin –" Tuck began.

"Just go back to your desks," she sighed. "In fact, why don't you take a couple days off. Come back on Thursday. And please find a way to pull your heads out of your asses in the meantime."

It was a dismissal. Tuck and FDR exchanged glances and got the hell out of her office.

:O:O:O:

On Thursday, they came back to work.

FDR was still grouchy about his arm. Tuck was still mulling obsessively over who the girl was from the club. He told himself it was solely about the fact that she'd taken out their target. It had nothing to do with the fact that her amazing body and beautiful face haunted him nonstop.

He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. His thoughts hadn't allowed him to get a great deal of sleep the past couple days. He'd completely neglected the laundry he'd planned to do, and had been reduced to his worn, holey jeans, a bright red v-neck T-shirt and his black leather jacket. FDR, normally so fashion conscious, looked equally as scruffy, in a worn gray T-shirt and his favorite white sneakers.

They had gotten coffee and trudged to their desks. FDR was currently spinning circles in his chair while Tuck gripped his forehead, poring over the files for the millionth time.

"Well, hope you're feeling better, boys," Collins voice floated down from above. They glanced up at her. "I see you dressed for success today."

"I'm not even sorry," FDR called up to her. She rolled her eyes.

"Would a suit, maybe just a nice shirt and slacks have killed you today? We're having a guest."

Tuck snapped his head back toward her. _Shit._ _Headquarters? The top echelon?_ "What guest?" he demanded.

Collins opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly her face changed, taking on a slightly friendly expression. "Oh, well. Here she is."

Tuck and FDR whipped their heads back in the other direction and saw a figure striding toward them. FDR let out a low whistle, and Tuck's jaw dropped.

His eyes started at her feet and traveled upward, taking in her nude high heeled pumps, her knee-length, curve-hugging navy tweed skirt, her sheer, pale pink blouse with tiny puffed sleeves. Dark, glossy hair was pulled back into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and she carried a black leather portfolio under her arm. A delicate gold bracelet encircled one small wrist, and large, gold knotted earrings hung at her jaws, peeking out from under her hair.

"Agent Moreno," Collins called down to her. The woman drew near, passing between their desks for the staircase. She glanced between FDR and Tuck, looking somewhat amused. When she turned her head to make eye-contact with Tuck, he was fairly certain his jaw hit the floor. He would have remembered that face anywhere; her smokey gray-blue eyes sealed her identity for him.

He half-rose out of his chair. "Y-you," was all he could manage.

She didn't slow and didn't look away. A little smile spread over her luscious lips as she turned her head to maintain eye contact as she passed.

"Me," she replied simply, seeming to enjoy his discomfort. She turned back around as she took to the stairs to ascend toward Collins.

FDR was still staring after her. "You know her, dude?"

"That's the girl!" Tuck hissed. "From the club! That dancer that took out Kozlov!"

FDR frowned after her. "No shit," he mused. There was almost an admiring quality in voice.

Tuck crumpled up a sheet of paper and threw it directly at his head. "Frank, this is nothing to be impressed about! She killed our mark. Why would she do that? Who does she work for?"

"Collins called her 'Agent'," FDR pointed out.

Tuck sat tensely at his desk, his eyes continuously cutting back up to Collins' office. Finally, the door opened and she waved them up.

Tuck practically ran up the stairs into the office. "Who are you?" he demanded, frowning at the woman in the chair. She regarded him coolly, her eyes traveling over him, taking in his rumpled shirt and jeans with a delicate raised eyebrow. Her smokey eyes shifted to FDR, appraising him in a similar manner.

"Today casual day, boys?" she asked calmly.

"Boys, this is Agent Chase Moreno," Collins said, shutting her door and moving to sit behind her desk. "Sit down, you two."

Tuck lowered himself into the chair next to Chase, still looking at her suspiciously. She returned his stare levelly.

"Who do you work for? Why would you kill our mark?" he demanded.

"I work for the CIA, same as you," she responded calmly. "I work for an anti-terrorism unit. My orders were to take Kozlov out."

"Yeah, well, our orders were to bring him in for questioning and get the intel on his drug operation," FDR exclaimed. "Way to fuck that up for us!"

"Guys," Collins said sharply. She turned to Chase. "My apologies, Agent Moreno."

"No trouble," the agent replied.

"You are going to be working with Agent Moreno to bring in Boris and bring his operation down," Collins explained. "She's been loaned to us from the other branch to assist on this case."

"I should imagine so," Tuck said testily. "Being that she sort of ruined it for us."

Chase rolled her eyes but said nothing.

"With FDR's injury, he's going to be grounded on this one," Collins said. FDR looked positively aghast, but she held up her hand. "Don't start with me, Foster. You're in no shape. That doesn't mean you'll be hands off. You'll be in charge of the control room." He sighed, slightly placated but mostly pissed still.

"Hansen, until we receive some intel regarding Kozlov's location, you're going to be working with Agent Moreno to bring her up to speed with the case. That means sharing your files, your notes, and so on."

Tuck nodded grudgingly. He didn't want to share anything with this woman.

"I'd also like for you to show her around the compound, around LA. She's based in New York and she's not too familiar with the West Coast." Collins fixed Tuck with a piercing stare. "Play nice."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered. _Easier said than done._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note- thanks to those of you who have followed and reviewed! I see this story has gotten some hits, but only 2 follows. Please follow and review!**

**Chapter 3**

Chase followed them out of Collins' office. FDR seemed to be grumbling to himself while Tuck was less inclined to feel rapturously happy at the turn of events. He started when he felt cool, soft fingertips on his arm. He whirled around, meeting her gray-blue eyes. She had a bill folded between her index and middle fingers and was holding it out to him.

"From the other night," she said, barely concealing a grin. "Thought you might like to have it back. I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless."

Wordlessly Tuck snatched the bill back from her. "You seem to enjoy annoying people," he muttered, turning away from her.

"Hey," Chase said defensively, still smiling. "I just thought I'd be nice and return that to you. I'm not trying to be annoying."

"It must be a hidden talent, then," FDR muttered from his desk.

For her part, Tuck had to admit, Chase looked nothing but thoroughly amused by the two of them. She leaned on Tuck's desk and he gulped as he glanced at her firm rear end sitting in front of him. She caught him looking, much to his chagrin, and seemed even more amused.

"So, are either of you hungry?" she asked.

"Nope," FDR replied firmly without looking at her. "I'm meeting my fiancée for lunch, anyway."

"Fiancée!" she exclaimed with a smirk. "She know you like visiting strip clubs? And tipping dancers?"

"Yeah, speaking of," FDR said, glaring up at her. He held his hand out. "I'll have my tip back now, too, please!"

"Oh, no, I'm keeping that one," Chase said. She turned her smirk on Tuck. "So I guess it's just you and me."

He glanced up at her, his brow furrowing. "After our meeting, I've lost my appetite, I assure you."

"Oh, come on," she said. "Your boss said you had to show me around anyway. Let me take you to lunch to make up for getting in the middle of your case. Seriously," she added, extending her hand. "I do apologize." Tuck looked at the hand suspiciously, but her face was genuine. Finally he took it and gave it a shake. Her hand was small and soft in his large one, but her handshake was firm. He gave hers an unnecessarily firm squeeze but she gave it right back to him, meeting his gaze steadily.

"Do you like sushi?" he asked grudgingly.

"Love it," she replied immediately.

"All right. Come on, then." Tuck rose from his desk chair and grabbed his jacket. As he walked off with Chase, he glanced back at FDR who was silently laughing at him. Tuck extended his middle finger and turned forward. When they reached the lobby, he reached around Chase to pull the door open for her.

"Such a gentleman," she remarked, smiling as she walked past him.

"Are you unaccustomed to that?" Tuck asked. "The sushi place is just down the street. We can walk if you like."

"Fine by me," Chase replied. They began strolling down the sidewalk. "To answer your other question, yes, I am unaccustomed to that. Sadly, in my line of work gentlemen are a rare breed. I'm generally treated like one of the guys."

Tuck glanced at her, taking in her ultra-feminine outfit, and chuckled. "One of the guys. Sure."

She glanced at him. "Yes, I like my heels and makeup…but I can still kick your ass. I assure you." She mocked his British accent with her last statement.

"Indeed," he said, choking back another laugh. She glared, and he was unable to resist grinning.

"We could arm wrestle, right here, if you want."

"That's unnecessary, but thank you, Agent," he said. "I would not embarrass you on your first case with me."

She playfully shoved his shoulder and they continued down the street. "So you and FDR have known each other for a long time?"

"A _very_ long time," Tuck replied. "We've been best mates for longer than I can remember. Been working together for about as long, too."

"That's nice," she said, causing him to cut a quick look over at her face to see if she was mocking him. She smiled and shook her head. "No, I really mean that. That's great."

"So, you've lived in New York long?" Tuck asked. They reached the entrance to the small sushi joint and he automatically reached for the door to pull it open for her. She smiled at him as she walked past.

"Uh, yes. I was born in New Jersey but we moved to Brooklyn when I was ten. I've never lived anywhere else."

"I like New York," Tuck said. "I've been there many times. Exciting city."

"Yes," she agreed. "And dangerous." They took seats at the sushi bar and ordered.

"What brought you to the CIA?" Tuck asked. He liked the way she delicately crossed her legs, hooking one heel on the rung of her chair.

"Well, it was the only job I could find where I could kill people and get paid well for it," she replied seriously.

Tuck couldn't stop another grin from crossing his face. He rubbed one finger over his bottom lip. "That's an excellent reason," he said. "I've a similar story."

The sushi chef reached over the counter and placed a plate of sushi rolls before them.

"So, tell me about your family," she said, expertly handling a pair of chopsticks and bringing a piece of sushi to her mouth.

"Well, my folks live in England. I've got a seven-year-old son called Joe and an ex-wife called Katie."

"Do they know about you?"

Tuck swallowed a bit of sushi and shook his head. "Not my parents," he replied. "They think I'm a travel agent. My son and my ex-wife sort of found out on accident."

"She couldn't handle it?" Chase asked, surprising him. He looked up at her.

"Pardon?"

"Your ex," she clarified. "Is she your ex because…she couldn't deal with the job?"

Tuck nodded. "Yes. We thought we could make it work for a while, but she decided she couldn't really handle it after all." He studied her as she bent over another piece of sushi. She had a look of understanding on her face. "What about you?" he asked.

She glanced up. "No kids," she replied. "I had a fiancé for about ten minutes. I felt obligated to tell him about my job – he previously thought I was a fashion buyer – and when he found out, he bolted." She smiled sadly. "I guess that's how it usually goes for us in this line of work, huh?"

"No, not always," Tuck replied. "FDR has got a fiancée. She's got a relatively normal job, knows what he does and fully supports it."

Chase smiled. "Well, that's great for him. Rare, though. You know as well as I do that this job makes having a relationship…difficult at best."

Tuck had to admit she was right. Suddenly, his phone chirped. He reached into his pocket and answered it. "Hansen," he answered curtly. It was Collins.

"We've got a lead on Boris," she said. "He's in LA. Just arrived last night. You and Agent Moreno need to get back to the office now."

"Yes, ma'am," Tuck replied. He hung up and replaced his phone and pulled out a few bills. "It was Collins. She has a lead on Kozlov. We've got to go."

Chase's hand on his stopped him. "I told you I was taking _you_ out to lunch," she replied, and threw some cash down before hopping out of her chair and heading for the door. She glanced back at Tuck, who lingered by his chair. "Well?"

"It's just – it sort of goes against my personal moral code to let a woman pay for a meal," he said uncertainly. Chase smirked at him and pushed open the door. Sunlight flooded in around her.

"Then I guess you'll have to take me somewhere else later on," she said lightly, and slid her sunglasses on.

:O:O:O:

As they rapidly walked back to the office, Chase couldn't help but check Tuck out, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip as she took him in. She remembered him – his face, his close cropped brown hair, his bright blue eyes and his full lips – from the club, but somehow she had forgotten just how gorgeous he actually was. When she had seen him before, he'd been in a suit; today he wore a snug, bright red T-shirt and beat up jeans that hung on him just right. The sleeves of his T-shirt hugged his well-developed biceps, and she saw a large black-ink tattoo on the outside of one bicep and another large black tattoo on the inside of the other. She knew she'd given him a little bit of shit about his casual appearance, but to be honest, he looked as sexy as he had in his suit in Vegas.

And then there was that voice, deep and warm. That _accent._

She actually knew all about Tuck and FDR. Rather, their career profiles. She had known that they were going to be at the club in Vegas, and she had known what they were there to do. What _they_ hadn't known was that Anatoly Kozlov was expecting an infiltration by two CIA agents. He just hadn't known what Tuck and FDR looked like or who they were. How he'd gotten that information, Chase herself didn't know – that was an entirely different problem. But with the amount of Russians who were carrying nasty, nasty weapons, it would have surely resulted in a bloodbath and the loss of two perfectly bright agents had she not stepped in and gotten rid of him first. Anatoly _hadn't_ seen her coming, and luckily, it was executed so subtly that she was fairly certain that Boris and company didn't know it had been her either. They had hardly spared her a second glance as soon as she'd leapt off Anatoly's lap and started screaming – they'd just brushed her aside. She'd wanted to get brother Boris as well but there hadn't been time, and then FDR had started shooting…

She sighed with annoyance at the memory. It could all have been over so quickly and smoothly. But she also knew that FDR had a rep for being a little trigger happy. They were lucky that the worst that had happened was an arm injury that would sideline FDR for a long time but from which he would ultimately recover. She didn't plan on letting them in on _her _intel anytime soon; with as annoyed with her as they seemed, she didn't think it would go over well. For now, she was content to play along, bring down the other Russian and get back to New York. And in the present moment, she was content to watch Tuck's rear end as they double-timed it back to the office.

He glanced back at her, hearing her involuntary sigh. "You all right back there?"

She loved his accent. There was something about English accents that just made her feel warm and gushy. Especially when it was spoken between the two luscious lips of a sexy, young, roughneck CIA agent. She knew she should be in a more professional state of mind, but she couldn't help it. She hadn't been with anyone in practically a year and dammit, Tuck Hansen was goddamn good-looking.

"Just fine," she said, panting slightly, her feet scurrying to keep up with his long strides. "I walk like this in four-inch heels all the time."

She wondered if she'd embarrassed or pissed him off by returning his tip to him. She bit back a smile at the memory. In college, she used to go-go dance and the experience had served her well in this particular situation. She hadn't forgotten how his eyes had gone over her, watching her every move, and the way he'd stared at her mouth when she'd leaned in to take the bill between his teeth with her own. She hadn't meant to embarrass him, but at the same time she couldn't help being amused by his reactions. For all his career accolades and professionalism, he had been such a, well, such a…_dude_.

They reached the office finally and he opened the large, heavy glass door to the lobby for her. This was the visitor's entrance, not the employee entrance, but as she was a visitor from the New York field office, Tuck had to escort her through the building. They flashed their badges at the security guard.

Tuck led the way through lobby and into the corridors of the building until they reached the familiar office area she had entered earlier. They climbed the stairs to Collins' office and Tuck knocked on the door. A moment later it opened, and Collins waved them in. She was on her cell phone and motioned them into the chairs in front of her desk, holding up one finger to indicate she would be another minute.

Chase all but collapsed into her chair, her feet killing her. She wasn't exactly tired but jogging five blocks in her heels was more work than she anticipated doing that day.

Tuck regarded her with an amused expression. "Not exactly…tactical footwear," he remarked. He sprawled in his chair with his long legs stretched out before him.

"Definitely not," she replied. "But I tend to dress for the office when I plan to be _in_ the office. Not everyone has the luxury of self-imposed casual days." She lifted an eyebrow at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her and smirked. "Well, perhaps if you did more work than dance on a stage for dollars you would be able to afford that luxury."

Chase sat up straight in her chair. "I'm sorry, what? Did you just say I didn't do work?"

"Not at all. After all, dancing on a pole is, I'm sure, quite strenuous."

"If I'm not mistaken," she began testily, "I believe _I_ was the one that took out Anatoly –"

"Right, and successfully botched the case Frank and I spent months putting together," Tuck exclaimed.

Somehow, the pleasantries at lunch had receded and the angry spark lit back up between them. Chase leaned toward him.

"It's certainly not _my_ fault you and your butt-buddy can't put a dossier together correctly," she hissed. "What was that, CIA Training 101? First day? You guys sleep through that, or you just couldn't be bothered to suit up and attend class?"

Tuck's bright blue eyes glared at her as he leaned toward her as well. "Perhaps we _aren't _as well-versed on putting packets of documents together – we're too busy doing _real _work _in the field! _But I'm sure your cushy desk job that allows you to wear tight skirts and high heels also breeds exceptional skills at paper-pushing."

Chase rose halfway out of her chair. "Listen, Harry Potter –"

"Original," Tuck commented. "Did you come up with that after reading about my nationality in my dossier?"

"Yup, 'cause that's about all there was in there to read about you," Chase shot back.

"Well, you must not have put that together properly, then. Perhaps your paper-pushing skills are _not _actually up to par."

"Oh, they are," Chase snapped back. "You're just exceedingly boring."

"Cut it out, both of you!" Collins voice interrupted her and made her jump. She wasn't sure how long the senior agent had been listening to their heated back-and-forth, but she looked annoyed enough to suggest she'd heard most of it. Chase dropped back into her chair, shooting Tuck another withering stare.

"Jesus, what are you, children?" she went on. She placed her hands on her hips. "You two are going to be working _very_ closely together and I can't have you acting like this!" She rolled her eyes. "I can't tell you how irritated I am by the fact that I sound like your parents. Now, can I reasonably expect that you will conduct yourselves professionally from here on out to get the job done?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both replied together. Chase cursed herself. She _should_ know better. But if there was one thing that really got under her skin, it was having her work ethic and contributions questioned. And for Tuck to call her a _paper-pusher…_

She shot him another angry glare from under lashes. He didn't miss it, lifting his scarred eyebrow at her, the rest of his face unmoved.

"Now, are you ready to hear about your assignment?" Collins went on, her voice clipped as she took in the nonverbal exchange.

"Yes, ma'am," they said together again.

"Wait, let me get FDR in here." She opened her office door and walked out a few steps, leaning over the railing as she called to him. A moment later he appeared in the office and he looked immediately amused at the sullen looks on both their faces.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked with a smirk, sitting down in between them in the chair Collins pushed out from behind her desk.

"That would suggest there was a pre-existing paradise," Chase muttered. "And there decidedly _was not_."

Tuck opened his mouth to reply, but then thought better of it, biting his lip and shaking his head.

Collins sighed. "All right, listen up. Intel suggests that Boris landed in LA last night. His whereabouts are currently unknown, but we do know that Jared James Whistler is having an art gala at his mansion in the Hills tonight."

Tuck glanced up. "Whistler…the art dealer?"

"The very same."

"How is Boris Kozlov connected to him?" FDR asked.

Chase answered. "Five years ago, Anatoly purchased several original Jackson Pollocks from Whistler. I assume they maintained that business contact?" She looked at Collins.

"They did. And as it happens, Whistler received some goods as payment for those paintings."

"Cocaine," Chase said, her eyes narrowing. "So Whistler and Boris naturally have a rapport now."

"Yes. The word is, this gala is just a front for the white-collar crowd of LA, the 'haves' and 'have-mores', to come and sample, possibly buy, cocaine."

"Is Kozlov rumored to be there?" Chase asked, leaning forward and putting her elbows on her knees. Tuck was amazed that she knew so much about the art dealer – other than knowing Whistler was an art dealer, neither he nor FDR had known that he was connected to the Kozlov family, and certainly not that he was a cocaine user, possibly a dealer as well.

"Possibly," Collins said, "but not likely. He rarely attends events like these. He sends his underbosses, his lieutenants."

"Why an art gala?" FDR asked. "I mean, he could probably get twice as much business with young Hollywood. Do you know how many actors and their friends, musicians, use? He could make a _killing."_

"They're too indiscreet," Chase replied. "I assume you've been to a supermarket a time or two in your life. The tabloids at the registers are always rife with one star's drug scandal after another. It's only a matter of time before they spill the beans on their dealer to avoid any serious punishment. The older, uppity, white-collar crowd, the 'quietly rich', are much safer and are far from the public eye. We're talking doctors, plastic surgeons, lawyers, accountants, executives."

FDR and Tuck exchanged a look of somewhat grudging admiration. Tuck had to admit, for as snotty and rude as she could be, she did know her shit.

Collins smiled approvingly at her. She knew she'd made the right decision to bring the bright East Coast agent in. She paced in front of them.

"I want you to go and see what you can find out about how the operation is being conducted. I want to know how many takers, who they are. There's also got to be some sort of electronic database where they're keeping client information, list of names and addresses, that sort of thing. The Kozlovs might be criminals but they are technologically further advanced than most crime families and drug rings we've dealt with." She faced them. "The trouble right now is how to get you in. I've got some people working on either stealing or replicating invitations but we need a backup plan."

Chase leaned forward again. "Is there currently a list of invitees? Is this a 'plus one' event?"

"Yes and yes."

"Get me a list, and I can get in without an invite," Chase said confidently.

"Wait a minute," Tuck spoke up, his tone taking a slightly sarcastic edge. "I assume I'll be going. They're not gonna let me just waltz through the door without an invite, with or without you. We're talking an extremely wealthy top-end art dealer. He's going to have loads of security. And even if you can get in, this isn't a one-man operation. You need backup."

"Yes, but you won't be accompanying me, not really," Chase said. "We'll find a way to get Tuck into the mansion for recon and backup. I'll get in through the front door and I'll keep Whistler busy." She smiled at Collins.

"One small problem, mate," Tuck said sarcastically. "We have to assume the Russians will be on the premises, maybe Boris himself. Are you forgetting he knows what you look like?"

Chase shook her head. "He remembers a go-go dancer from a strip club in Vegas, if anything," she said. "He won't recognize me. I'll make sure of it."

Doubt gnawed at Tuck's gut, but he had to admit, he was intrigued.

"And I'll be doing what?" FDR asked dryly. "Holding the coats and purses? The hors d'oeuvres? With my good arm, of course."

"You'll be eyes-on in the truck," Collins said, ignoring his sarcasm, "and you'll be guiding them through the mansion. Apparently Whistler needs a maid to clean the mansion for this evening. We've sent in our own who will be placing surveillance equipment around the house."

"Why can't they grab the database while they're at it, save everyone some trouble?" FDR asked with a shrug.

"There's no guarantee it will be available right now, before the party," Collins said. "I can't take that risk."

"We'll handle it," Chase said confidently.

She was more concerned about handling a night alone with Tuck without scratching his eyes out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Thank you, Agent Downing. I do appreciate it."

Tuck accepted the manila file folder and clapped the agent on the back. The folder contained high-resolution satellite images, taken from a variety of angles, of Whistler's mansion. It would allow him to view the property holistically and create a plan of entry while Chase entered in the front.

He walked back to his desk and stopped short. Chase was in his chair, at his desk, using his computer, clacking away furiously at the keys. She was wearing a pair of black framed eyeglasses and squinting as she pored over the screen. FDR was shaking his head as he watched her and using his good arm to pitch crumpled up paper balls into the wastebasket.

Tuck was flabbergasted. He strode over their desks. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

She looked at him over the rim of her glasses and sighed. "He's been at it for, like, fifteen minutes nonstop now." She cut her eyes irritably at FDR. "Can't you find something better to do with your time and simultaneously actually _earn_ your outrageously high salary and stop annoying me?"

Tuck shook his head rapidly, waving his hand in front of him. "No, no. Not FDR. I meant _you._ What the hell are you doing on my computer?"

She looked at him peevishly, as though he were disturbing her. "Um, it's called research? It wouldn't kill you to do some." She turned her attention back to the screen.

Tuck reached over and turned the screen away from her. "How the hell did you get into my computer?" he demanded.

Chase smirked and reached for something on the other side of the computer. She held up his badge. "Forget something?"

He snatched it out of her hand, cursing himself for forgetting to put it around his neck after their meeting with Collins.

"You might have _stolen_ my badge for the swipe access," he said, "but it's still password-protected."

"First of all, I can't steal something that was lying out in plain sight," Chase said coolly. "All I did was pick it up and swipe. And as far as your password…" She pulled her glasses down her nose slightly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "'J0eNk tie4eva'? Really, Tuck?"

FDR snorted involuntarily.

Tuck glared at her. "The requirement was at least eight characters in length with a number and a special character," he hissed. "That's not the point. How did you get that?"

"It's called hacking," she replied, reaching out to brush his hand off the screen and turning it back toward her. "And I got it on the third try. You might try making it a bit more complex." She went back to scrolling through her screen as Tuck stood in front of her, infuriated. She glanced up at him over the edge of her glasses again. "You're welcome to pull up a chair," she offered. "This does pertain to our plan for this evening after all."

"I – _I'm welcome_ – to pull up –" he stuttered. "This…this is _my_ desk!"

"Are these the hi-res sat photos?" Chase said, reaching out to pluck the folder from his fingers. She opened it and spread the photos out on his desk. "Perfect."

Tuck turned his open-mouthed stare to FDR, who shrugged as he rose from his desk to walk over. "You…you want my chair, dude?"

"No," Tuck said through clenched teeth.

"You done yet?" Chase asked, looking up at them. "You ready to work?"

Tuck glared at her and stood rigidly for a moment. "Ready," he ground out.

"Smashing," she said, mocking his accent again. She pointed to one photo taken of the front of the house. "The mansion is surrounded by a fifteen-foot high wrought iron and stone fence combination. There are gates at the font and the back, and they are made of wrought-iron but as you would assume, they are electronically controlled. There will likely be security here," she tapped her finger on the gates, "so if we aren't able to come up with some sort of invitation this could get tricky."

"I thought you were all confident about getting in with or without an invite," FDR said, a note of challenge in his voice.

"Oh, I am," she said calmly. "That doesn't mean things can't get tricky. We drop Tuck at the back of the house and Agent Boyles is going to be my chauffeur. That way Tuck can at least get on the premises even if I can't get past security."

"And how will Tuck be getting on the premises?" Tuck asked, folding his arms.

Chase rifled through the photos, finding one taken of the back of the house. The stone wall bordered along the back, parting for a wrought iron gate that mirrored the one in the front. He wasn't concerned with getting over the wall; he wanted to know what sort of security would be there.

"There will likely be about four or five sentries patrolling the premises, not including, say, two guards at the entrance," Chase said.

"How do you figure four or five?" FDR asked. Tuck knew he was testing the agent; he had also figured four or five and knew that FDR had as well.

She narrowed her eyes up at him as though she knew she was being tested. "It's only logical. The house has four sides. The backyard is expansive. You've already got two guards at the front of the house. One guard on each flank of the house. Two to three to cover the back. Best to prepare for five sentries."

"So, how do you recommend I get past them?" It was Tuck's turn to test her.

She stared up at him for a moment before pulling off her glasses. "Personally I recommend the smoke bombs as a diversion. They're nice and quiet and the small canisters produce a cloud small enough not to draw the attention from the front or sides. Additionally, the sentries will be drawn to the explosion and you can take them out from a distance. Use the trees." She tapped the photo again and Tuck could see a thick copse of oak trees just inside the stone wall.

"Seems doable," he replied.

"After you've taken out the guards, FDR will direct you into the house to get the records. Then slip out the back. You'll need to give FDR a time estimate once you've got the records so you can time the pick-up. If all goes well, I'll slip out the front into Agent Boyle's vehicle and we'll all reconvene back here."

"And if shit hits the fan?" FDR asked.

She paused, sighing. If shit hit the fan. Chase knew from experience it more than likely would. "We improvise," she replied simply. "I'm sure it wouldn't your first time doing that. It sure as hell won't be mine. We improvise until we get the job done. Or we get killed."

Her words hung in the air as she shifted her gaze between the two agents. She settled her eyes on Tuck and they locked gazes. Dislike flared up in her, but as she lost herself in his bright blue eyes, it started to recede a bit.

She shook herself, rising from the chair. "Cinderella needs to get ready for the ball. I trust the two of you can handle the logistics of everything else, getting the surveillance van outfitted, the weapons and equipment together?" She lifted her brows at them.

"We got it," FDR said.

"Don't forget the earpieces and mics."

"Got it," FDR repeated, sounding annoyed.

"Oh, and the zip ties."

"Chase," he said, sounding exasperated.

"Ok, ok." Chase reached across Tuck's desk to gather up her black leather portfolio. She stepped around the chair, giving him a mocking smile as she exaggeratedly pushed it back in, and turned to leave. She took a few paces away before turning around quickly. "Oh, don't forg—"

"I said, _we got it_," FDR said, perturbed. "We _have_ done this a couple times."

Chase smirked and opened her portfolio, pulling out a small rolled up sheet of white paper. She tossed it to him. "You might find this sort of important." She shifted her eyes to Tuck, her gaze traveling down his body before returning to his eyes. "I'll see you later, cowboy. Don't stand me up." She turned on her heel and strode from the room.

Tuck stared after her, watching the way her hips swayed as she walked. He ran a hand over his mouth before shaking his head and turning to FDR. He plucked the rolled up scroll from his hand. "What is this," he murmured.

He unfurled it and spread it out across his desk. When he realized what it was, his face changed. "Christ," he muttered irritably. He looked up at FDR. "How did you expect to walk us through the mansion without the blueprints?"

"Hey," FDR said defensively. "I was going to get them!"

"Sure," Tuck said, rolling his eyes. He rolled the blueprints back up and slapped them into FDR's palm. "Don't lose that. Let's go load up."

"My favorite part," FDR said with a bright grin.

:O:O:O:

Chase sucked in a breath to calm her nerves as Agent Boyles drove the black sedan up to the enormous wrought iron gate. It seemed to be so much bigger and taller than she had thought, but the rational part of her mind knew that fifteen feet was fifteen feet and chalked it up to nerves.

She pulled a compact from her hard-shell clutch. On the off-chance that any of the Russians who had escaped the club in Vegas would be there, she didn't think anyone would recognize her. In addition to her long, draped black evening gown and black stiletto sandals, she had donned a shoulder-brushing, jet black blunt cut wig. She wore a pair of fake black wire-rimmed glasses as well and applied heavy, smoky black eye shadow around her eyes. She shifted slightly, the "toys" she'd brought with her, strapped to her body under the dress, poking into her uncomfortably.

"You ready, ma'am?" Boyles' quiet voice carried over the seat to her.

"I think so," she sighed as they neared the gate. She had a rough idea of how she was going to play it; she didn't want to be too rehearsed. She'd pored over the list of guests and their dates and had come across one name that had RSVP'd with a "maybe" guest, but the guest's name hadn't been filled in.

As they pulled up to the gate, Chase mentally prepared herself and closed her eyes, slipping into her character. She opened them and adjusted the teeny earpiece in her ear under the wig.

"I'm up," she said tersely into it.

"Check," she heard Tuck's voice say.

"Good luck," FDR added.

She rolled down the window as one of the two security guards posted at the entrance made their way over to her.

"Good evening, ma'am," one of the guards said politely. "May I have your invitation please?"

"Why, yes, of course," Chase replied, making her voice low and husky. As she reached for her purse, she leaned slightly so the guard could have a good peek at her cleavage. She made a show of opening the purse and rifling through it. She dropped it into her lap, looking up at the guard and biting her lip. "I – this is unbelievable. I can't find it. James," she said, directing her voice toward Boyles, who turned slightly. "James, is my invitation in the front seat with you? Did I hand it to you before we left the compound?"

"James?" Tuck muttered in her ear.

"Compound?" FDR said at the same time.

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid not," Boyles replied with a straight face.

Chase turned back to the guard. "I'm so sorry, this is an awful mix up." She pressed closer to the door, and the guard's eye was drawn immediately to her chest again. Chase pulled the corners of her lips into a smile. "I'm supposed to be meeting an Edward Milton here. It's sort of a…" she lowered her voice to giggle up the guard. "A blind date." She rolled her eyes slightly.

The guard smiled back at her. "Let me check the lists, ma'am. Wait here." Chase sat back in her seat.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," FDR's voice teased.

"Shut up," she muttered. The guard returned with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He flipped through them. "Edward…Milton. Yes. He responded that he might bring a guest. But there's no name." He glanced at Chase.

She giggled again and pulled her glasses down her nose slightly to peer up at him over the top. "That's because he doesn't know it," she said, her voice a purr.

"Blind date," the guard repeated, practically gaping at her.

"That's right," Chase said with a smile. She reached out to brush her fingertips over the guard's hand. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Y-yes," the guard stuttered.

"I'm really just here for the art," she said. "Edward could be a great guy and all, but…I'm just here to look at some beautiful paintings. Y'know?" She continued to lightly stroke the back of his hand with her red-lacquered fingertips, leaning toward him to press her cleavage up, smiling seductively.

"Yes, ma'am," he gulped. He waved the guard to open the gate. "Let her through, John."

"Thanks, sweetheart," she purred to him with a wink. "Maybe I'll see you inside."

She rolled up the window and fell back against the seat with a little huff. "Well, that was easy."

"Nice work," Tuck said. "I'm arriving at the wall now."

"Remember, stay in the trees," Chase hissed just as a valet opened her door for her. "Goodbye, James," she said, looking at Boyle pointedly. He wouldn't drive off too far.

As she stepped out of the car, she adjusted her dress under ladylike pretenses but really it was to make sure all of her accessories wouldn't be seen. She scooped up her clutch purse and took the valet's hand as he assisted her up the stairs in her tiny, wobbly heels.

"Entering," she breathed into the earpiece without moving her lips.

"Be careful," Tuck's voice crackled over.

"Roger that," she replied. She walked into a warmly lit grand expanse of a foyer. It was by far the loveliest, most opulent home she had ever seen, let alone been in. A waiter stopped in front of her with a warm smile, offering her a gold tray filled with champagne flutes. She accepted one with a smile and sipped at it lightly for his benefit before he turned away. One glass certainly wouldn't affect her but she wouldn't drink it regardless. She had quite a bit of work to do.

She strolled further into the home, seeing quite a few people milling around. She knew that not everyone was here for the "snow white" but it was impossible to know who was and who wasn't. She wondered how it was going to be presented.

She didn't have to wonder long.

A man in a three-piece black suit walked up to her with a smile on his face. She turned to face him, returning his smile.

"Good evening, miss," he said in a heavily accented voice.

"Russian," FDR said immediately.

"Good evening," she purred back.

"Is there anything I can help you with this evening? Are you quite comfortable, quite refreshed?" His eyes went over her boldly.

"I'm just very eager to see some art," she replied.

He gestured to the walls. "As you can see, there is no shortage of that." He gestured to her drink. "Will your champagne be enough for you this evening?"

Immediately her antenna went up. "For now," she said smoothly, staring directly into his eyes. "I'm sure when it's gone, I'll need some other…_refreshment."_

The Russian looked pleased, smiling, and nodded slightly. "Yes, miss. I believe I can take care of your needs. I shall check back with you once you've had your fill of champagne and art."

"Why, aren't you sweet," she said. "You can help me with something now." She was about to do something risky; her forthcoming request wasn't something that was public knowledge, but if she could pull it off, it would get her that much closer to the interior of the house.

"What are you doing?" FDR's voice crackled into her ear.

"What is she doing?" Tuck said, sounding breathless, at the same time. Chase supposed he was keeping busy in the backyard.

"And what is that?" the Russian asked in his same pleasant tone.

"I've heard," Chase began, stepping closer, "that Mr. Whistler has a very expansive private gallery on his property. I'm talking cream of the crop. Pollock. Warhol. O'Keeffe. Wood. Rothko. Originals." She smiled.

The Russian cleared his throat. "I have been acquainted with Mr. Whistler for some time, miss, and I do not know of such a gallery on these premises. Mr. Whistler's art collection is always on display for all to see." He gestured toward the walls. The art he had on display was a combination of high-quality replicas, first edition prints, and a number of works by more contemporary, less famous artists. It was mediocre at best but packaged in beautifully gilded wrapping to make it seem more than it was.

Chase knew that he had the originals, that he'd had them stolen, bribed, or blackmailed into his keeping somehow. He knew he used the Americana as bargaining chips for his other practices – like drugs. Her patriotism was affected by his utilization of the American classic paintings and she made a mental note when they got the Russian to come back and confiscate Whistler's collection that she _knew_ was here. Her intel wasn't wrong.

She made her face sad and pouty. "Oh, darn. Well, I guess I heard wrong then." She took another sip of her champagne and held up the glass. "I'll be seeing you soon, then?"

The Russian had lost his smile, but his tone was as smooth as ever. "Yes. Please enjoy your evening." With a slight bow, he turned and left her.

"What was that?" FDR demanded.

"Later," Chase muttered. "Tuck? Sit-rep?"

"OK," he replied. "Three guards down."

"Chase," FDR said. "The only way into the house is through a very large room, maybe a living room of some sort, through the door at your eleven o'clock."

Chase's eyes immediately cut to that direction. There was a door in the wall painted the same shade as the wall and paintings had been artfully arranged over it to make it as nondescript as possible.

"Can you get back there?"

"Not without some undoubtedly gratuitous violence," Chase muttered.

"Who are you talking to?"

Chase jumped at the sound of the voice behind her and whirled around. A tall man stood in front of her, appearing to be roughly in his early forties. He wore a tuxedo with no bowtie, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He had slightly long light brown hair streaked with gray and a scruffy face. She knew his face immediately. _Whistler._

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"I heard you muttering to yourself," he said, his eyes crinkling.

"Oh," Chase said with a breathless laugh. She pressed her hand to her chest. "I do that sometimes. They say talking to yourself is either a sign of insanity or genius."

"Indeed," he said. He gestured to his collection on the wall in front of her. "What have you seen that you've liked so far?"

"Hmm. Not much, to be honest," she replied coolly.

"Really?" he lifted his eyebrows. "That's odd. Almost everyone here has done nothing but exclaim over the pieces. I've already had several offers to buy."

"I could see that," she said. "When you're dealing with a crowd that knows nothing about art."

He smirked at her, obviously intrigued. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"Well, if I weren't really here for the art, I would probably be exclaiming over all of this crap, too."

"_Crap?"_ he repeated, blinking rapidly.

"Chase," FDR's voice came warningly over in her ear.

"Tell me something," Chase said, tilting her head and peering at him over the top of her glasses. "We all know why we're really here. Why even bother with this rigmarole? An _art gala_?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Whistler said calmly, his face a mask of smooth.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Chase said, stepping closer to him. "If this was really an art gala, you'd pull out the good stuff that I know you have. But since it's not, why not just bring the candy out and let us all get on with our lives?"

Whistler smirked again, his eyes going over her face, narrowing. She met his gaze unflinchingly.

"You've got some balls," he said finally. "I knew you've been asking to see my real collection. That's why I came over here."

"So you admit, it does exist?" Chase purred.

"It exists. Over there." He nodded toward the door Chase had seen. "So tell me, miss…?"

"Tell you what?" Chase replied coolly, smoothly ignoring his request for her name.

"Do you want the art, or the candy?"

"Oh, it's only one or the other?" she asked with a half-smile. "I thought I could have it all."

He laughed. "You're outrageous," he said, fixing his eyes on her cleavage. "You can have it all. I'll make that exception for you."

"Ooh, I feel all special and warm now," Chase replied. "I'll take the art first."

He stared at her appraisingly for a moment. "All right. Come on."

"Chase, what the fuck?" came FDR's hissed voice.

"What the hell is she doing?" Tuck chimed in.

Chase followed him across the room as he carefully pulled the door open. He motioned for her to go first with a slight bow. She stepped through the door, and this time, her breath caught with real emotion.

These were no fakes, no replicas, no reproductions. These were the real thing; even her unpracticed eye could tell that much. The room was huge and scores of original American paintings littered the walls. She walked into the room. It could have been a ballroom, with light, cream colored marble floors. Pale, gold-flecked wall peeked out in between framed paintings. A huge crystal chandelier glittered in the warm light glowing from misty wall sconces. There were sections for seating scattered throughout the room; an intimate table for two flanked by two soft armchairs, another single armchair on a horsehair rug in another corner. A table for four with tall, leather-backed chairs sat across the room. It was a room designed to cater to Whistler's crooked clientele.

"Do you like it?" came his voice quietly from behind her as he shut the door.

"This is amazing," she replied.

"Well," he said, and she heard the unmistakable click of the door being locked. Her eyes moved at the sound, but she didn't turn around. "That might be the first truly genuine thing you've said all night."

"Beg your pardon?" Chase asked, still not turning around. Adrenaline began to flood her system.

"Ah, shit," FDR groaned in her ear. "Tuck, there's a back entrance to the gallery from the yard. You should probably go now…I have a feeling that shit's about to go down. Thanks to Agent Reckless in there."

"Guide me," came Tuck's clipped reply. Chase narrowed her eyes. She couldn't have FDR jabbering in her ear; it was going to distract her.

"Later," she whispered under her breath, her fingertips sliding under her wig to her ear.

"Chase, no –"

She clicked the earpiece off and walked further into the room. She still hadn't turned around to face Whistler, and clasped her hands behind her back as she stopped in front of a Georgia O'Keeffe.

"I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Mr. Whistler," she said, examining the painting. "In fact, I find it slightly offensive. I told you I was here for the art."

"Oh, I know you are," Whistler said, walking up behind her. She felt the warmth from his body as he pressed up behind her. He spoke into her ear. "You're most definitely an art aficionado, I can tell."

Chase had turned slightly to murmur back to him, willing to keep up the play at intimacy, but the sudden metallic _click_ of a gun, and the feeling of it pressing into the small of her back, brought her up sharply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note - YAY! I'm getting some more reviews and followers of this story :-D I'm glad everyone is liking it so far and I really appreciate the follows and reviews. Pretty please keep 'em coming! **

**Chapter 5 **

"Frank," Tuck panted in the dark. "Where the fuck am I going?" He had just come down from the tree, a combination of climbing, jumping and falling, but now that he was down, he wasn't sure where he was going.

"Hold on," FDR replied, and Tuck heard rustling noises through his earpiece.

"Hurry," Tuck said, his voice clipped. "She fucking went offline."

"There's a basement with windows that line the bottom of the mansion. You'll have to go in through one of those windows and work your way up toward the gallery. There's gonna be security in the house so get ready. Window, directly at your twelve."

Tuck ran forward across the lawn, slowly starting to make out the shape of a window toward the bottom of the house. He pulled his suppressed Glock out and used the butt to break the glass. He paused at the window, listening hard. He heard nothing and vaulted inside. He immediately located a set of stairs on the other side of the room. From what he could tell, the basement was mostly storage for furniture. The drug room would probably be in a more hospitable portion of the mansion. He crossed the room quickly to the stairs.

"Basement should be clear of sentries," FDR said. "No security until the first floor. At the top of the stairs there will be a door. Once you get to the door, you want to go left until you reach the end of hallway. Then turn right and it's a straight shot to the door at the end of that hallway to the gallery."

"Roger that," Tuck replied, making his way up the stairs. He cracked the door open carefully and stuck his head out. He glanced to his right and spotted a sentry. The guard had his back to him and wasn't even holding onto the rifle hanging from his shoulder. Tuck squinted and saw that the man was _texting_, of all things.

Tuck crept down the hall, holding his Glock in his hand. He spun it deftly on his fingers until he was gripping the barrel and brought it down on the guard's head. He crumpled silently to the ground.

"Tuck?" FDR's voice asked.

"Took out a guard," Tuck replied. "Securing him now." He used zip ties to secure the man's wrists and feet and then took his rifle. He holstered his Glock and slung the rifle over his arm. He turned and made his way down the now clear hallway until he reached the T-junction. He glanced left, seeing another stretching expanse of hallway that curved around a corner. The wall was lined with windows to the outside. He glanced right and saw the hallway was clear. There were a few doors along either side of the walls but otherwise was bare. For an art dealer, Whistler hadn't hung a single painting anywhere on any of the walls he'd seen so far.

He rushed down the hall toward the door at the end and crouched down before he opened it. If there was a problem waiting on the other side, he wanted to be as low as possible. He turned the knob and pushed the door open silently. He peeked through the crack, then pushed the door open the rest of the way, rising. He couldn't help grinning as he walked into the room.

Chase had Whistler facedown on the marble floor, his face a bloody mess, both his arms wrenched up behind him. Tuck thought he was unconscious until he heard the man's loud groan of pain. Chase was digging the stiletto heel of one foot into the man's back, which made Tuck wince slightly – that undoubtedly hurt like a son of a bitch. Her wig had come off somehow, her long wavy ponytail flowing over her shoulder. Her long leg peeked through a slit in her dress as she pressed her heel harder into the small of Whistler's back. She glanced up briefly, seeing Tuck enter.

"Oh, hi," she said casually, as though she wasn't wrenching the arms off a grown man on the floor. "Right on time."

:O:O:O:

Whistler pressed the gun against her spine, digging in hard. Chase stiffened.

"Mr. Whistler," she said. "Is that a gun, or are you just sharing in my excitement over your _real_ art display?" She subtly stretched and clenched her fingers as her arms hung down by her sides.

She felt him back up off of her, but knew he still had the gun trained on her. She slowly lifted her hands, palms out, and turned slowly to face him.

"I made you for a booster the second you came through that gate," he spat. She wanted to laugh at his wrongness but swallowed it. "You came here to recon this place, see the gallery for yourself, and then take it back to your crew, didn't you? You don't care about the coke, you never came for the coke."

"A girl has to make a living somehow," she said, her hands still in the air.

He let out a bark of laughter and stepped up close to her, jabbing the gun in her face. She forced herself not to look at it. _Too close, you are,_ she thought, suppressing a smirk.

"You think you can come in here and try to rob me? I bet you got fences lined up already, don't you!" He pressed the barrel of the gun into her cheek. "You fucked up, sweetheart. You would have been much better off if you just came for the coke."

"Honest mistake," Chase replied, meeting his eyes.

"One that'll be your last," he said, "one that's gonna get you killed."

"You think?" she asked innocently, not moving.

"I _know_," he replied. He glared at her. "Why don't you look scared?"

She batted her eyelashes, just a little. "Should I be?"

"I have a fucking gun to your _face_," he hissed. "Yeah, you should be!"

"Oh, sorry," she said, feigning regret. She cleared her throat. "No! Please, Mr. Big Bad Art Dealer With A Gun. Please don't kill me!"

He smirked. He drew the tip of the gun down her face, throat, and chest, pulling it across her breast and circling her nipple with it. "You are gorgeous," he admitted. "Maybe we'll have some fun first before I kill you. I want to hear you scream."

"Now, wouldn't that disturb your guests?" she asked smoothly.

"Soundproof walls in here, sweetheart. No one will hear a thing. So you can scream as loud as you want. And you will." He grabbed his crotch with his free hand. "Shit, I'm hard already, just looking at you. I've been watching that ass of yours all night." He leered at her, making an obvious show of peeking around to the back of her to check out her rear end.

"You've been watching _this_ ass?" she repeated.

"Mmm, yup," he replied, reaching out to grab her ass.

"Bad idea," she growled.

Lightning fast, she threw an elbow into the side of his face. She grabbed his gun hand with her left hand and grabbed his thumb with her right, wrenching it off the barrel and back, breaking it. Before he could try to squeeze the trigger, he dropped the gun, howling. He tried to punch her with his left hand, but, still gripping his gun hand with her left, she threw up her right forearm to deflect the blow while bringing her knee punishingly to his groin three rapid times before giving him two lightning fast, hard body shots and an uppercut.

The impact was jarringly painful, sending him sprawling backward on his ass. She took one step toward him and her skinny heel pinned the hem of her gown to the floor and she tripped, falling hard on her ass. Whistler took the opportunity to reach out for the nearest part of her he could manage and grabbed her ankle, yanking her toward him. She bared her teeth at him and kicked out with her other foot, catching him in the face. To his credit, Whistler didn't let go of her, but used his other hand to claw at his forehead where blood was starting to pour from the gash in his skin her heel had caused. In a fast, fluid motion, Chase yanked up the hem of her dress and snatched a tiny throwing knife from the sheath around her thigh. She threw it into his shoulder and with another scream, Whistler let go of her to grab at the wound. She took the opportunity to windmill her legs, maneuvering herself to a crouched position, and whirled around backward, kicking her leg up and out hard, making sickening contact with his face once more. Blood sprayed as her stiletto heel tore at his face again and he fell flat on his back. She stepped over crouched over him, pinning his arms down with her knees as she delivered rock hard, punishing blows to his face. He tried to use her weight against her by bucking his hips up to get her off. She used the momentum to swing herself around his arm like it was a pole and leaned back, using one shoe to pin his free arm painfully to the ground while she pulled the arm she held upward between her legs, pressing it down against her hips. She elevated her hips, making his shoulder strain in the socket and he cried out in pain sharply. She gave it another good, hard yank, and he shouted louder. She maneuvered off him quickly, forcing a knee into his back and rolled him over, grabbing his other arm and forcing it up and back with his other one.

"What the fuck!" the man yelled. For a man of his size, he had surprisingly underwhelming upper body strength and Chase was able to hold him down with no problems. The stiletto heel in his back didn't hurt either.

At that moment the door across the room opened and Tuck strode across the room to her. She glanced up at him. He was in all black with holsters and various packs attached to him as well as an earpiece. She spared a brief moment to admire the way the sleeves of his black T-shirt clung to his tattooed biceps.

"Oh, hi," she said. "Right on time."

"'Oh, hi'?" he repeated back to her incredulously. He let a half-grin cross his face as he looked down at Whistler. "How's it going down there, mate?"

"Fucking bitch kicked my ass!" the art dealer choked. He followed up with another bark of pain as Chase wrenched his arms higher. "She's breaking my fucking shoulders, man!"

"Hold his arms for me, please," Chase said to Tuck. He grabbed the man's arms. Chase didn't remove her foot from Whistler's back and reached out to grab Tuck's Glock from the holster strapped to his shoulders. She expertly twirled the gun on her finger to grip the silenced barrel and brought the butt down hard across Whistler's head. The man went slack on the ground, and Chase crouched on his back and pulled a pair of zip ties from under her dress and secured his hands and ankles. Then, she removed a tiny vial and syringe, also from under her dress, and injected it carefully into the man's neck.

"What the hell is that?" Tuck asked. "What else have you got under that dress? An armory?"

"This," Chase replied, pulling the needle from the man's neck, "is just a little something to make sure he stays knocked out for when you take him back to the truck to take him back to the office."

"When _I _take him back?" Tuck repeated. "What are you going to do?"

"We still need that computer," she reminded him. "As for my dress…" She reached for the glittery, decorative broach at the side of her waist that held the dress together. She unpinned it and the dress opened. She shook it off her shoulders, catching Tuck's look of amazement. Under the dress she wore a tight black scoop-neck tank top and a pair of short, tight athletic shorts.

"I need to borrow your arm for a second," she said, and gripped his forearm for balance as she unfastened the uncomfortable stilettos from her feet. She reached down into her tank top and pulled out a pair of flexible, flat black shoes, slipping them on. She had sheaths strapped around both thighs that held knives of various sizes. The only thing she didn't have was a gun. She held up his Glock, noting his rifle.

"I can borrow this, yeah?" she asked. "Obviously I can't drag his ass to the van. You do that, I'll get the computer and meet up with you and FDR. Give me your holster."

Tuck pulled off his double shoulder holster and handed it to her, watching as she slipped it on and adjusted it. She leaned down and yanked her knife out of Whistler's shoulder before Tuck leaned down and hefted the unconscious man to his shoulders, staggering slightly.

"Hurry up," he grunted. He turned to head back for the door before stopping and turning toward her again. "Don't forget to come back online," he added sternly, and Chase remembered that she'd clicked off. She reached up and reactivated the tiny device in her ear.

"Sorry," she said.

"You're back!" FDR's voice crackled loudly in her ear. She winced.

"Don't cut out like that again," Tuck said. "We'll be waiting for you." He headed for the door at the back of the room. Chase smirked and skipped ahead of him, opening the door and holding it open for him, making a little bow as he walked through ahead of her.

"Thanks," he said grudgingly. She didn't miss the way his eyes went over her quickly before he looked away and she flushed slightly. While trying to select an undetectable yet tactical outfit, she hadn't thought about how much of her it showed.

"Just be ready to pick me up," she said lightly. "FDR."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Tell me where I'm going."

"The computer is in his office on the fifth floor. If you come back down the hall that Tuck has to come down, you'll see some doors on either wall. You want the second door down on your left."

She shut the door behind herself and followed Tuck down the hall. She paused when she reached the door, her hand on the knob and glanced back at him. He was hardly straining under Whistler's weight, but a light sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His bright blue eyes bored into hers; he seemed to want to say something. She suddenly thought back to their childish spat in Collins' office earlier and felt bad. She didn't want to start off on the wrong foot with him. Now, however, wasn't the time to bring it up.

She turned the knob. "Well, Tuck," she joked. "I had a really nice time tonight." She gave him a small, playful smile. "But you should know, I don't kiss on the first date."

He huffed out a laugh, one corner of his mouth pulling up. "I'll keep that in mind," he shot back.

"Now get out of here," Chase said. "I'll see you soon."

"That was touching," FDR said sarcastically in their ears.

She pulled the door open and slipped past it, pulling it shut behind her. She held the silenced, extended barrel of the Glock out in front of her, wrapping her supporting hand around the front. "Talk to me, FDR," she said.

"All right. You should be in a corridor now. There's three doors at the end of the hall – one on either wall and one at the end. The one at the end opens to another staircase. This staircase will take you up the backside of the house to get to the fifth floor."

Chase made her way swiftly down the hall and pushed the door open. As FDR had said, there was a staircase in front of her. She started to jog quickly, panting as she moved into a sprint. After a few moments, FDR chuckled.

"Getting tired there, Agent?"

"Shut up," she huffed. The staircase began to wind a bit. She kept going, running faster, until she finally reached the fifth floor. She paused on the landing, leaning over to catch her breath. Her quads were on fire.

"Hey, man," she heard FDR say. "Ooh, did you bring me a present?"

"Only if you really wanted a crooked art dealer," Tuck replied, sounding out of breath himself.

Chase was glad to hear he'd made it back safely. She gulped another breath of air.

"You there yet?" FDR demanded impatiently.

"Yes. Can I get a second? I just sprinted to the top of a five-story mansion," Chase shot back. She rolled her neck on her shoulders, wiping sweat from the back of her neck.

"She's tired," she heard FDR say to Tuck in a fake concerned tone and she rolled her eyes. She tightened the suppressor on the gun, checking to make sure she had a round chambered.

"Be careful with my Glock," Tuck said suddenly as though he could see her.

"You sure you know how to handle _large_ things like that?" FDR added. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt now."

"I can handle mine," Chase said with a smirk. "Now hush so I can concentrate." She crouched down and twisted the knob on the door, pushing it open gently.

Her careful actions were in vain, because she immediately heard a loud "_Hey!" _followed by the pounding of feet from the other side of the open door.

"Fuck!" FDR hissed as Tuck cursed at the same time.

Chase darted out from behind the door just as the guard reached it. He yanked it back and peered around it, not noticing her crouched low to the ground. She swept his feet out from underneath him and he hit the ground hard with a grunt. He managed to pull out his gun. Chase pushed herself back into a crab position and drove the heel of her foot down into his face hard before he could get off a shot. He dropped the gun and his head fell back, his hands fluttering slightly before stilling. She grabbed up his gun and rolled to her feet.

"Damn, Chase, are you all right?" FDR demanded.

"Yes," she replied. "Where to?"

"From the door you need to head right and follow the hallway. You'll then go left, because that should be the only available direction. You'll follow that corridor down until it T-junctions and then you'll go left again. The office will be behind the door at the end of the hall."

Chase crept down the hall, listening hard for any noises. When she reached the end of the hall, she crouched again, edging slightly around the corner. She saw two sentries in the hallway. They were suited and booted, both carrying automatic rifles.

She took a deep breath, rising from her crouch. She dropped her hands to her sides and slightly behind her, then stepped around the corner.

They stopped whatever they were chatting about and stared at her.

"Hey, boys," she said with a seductive smirk.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the men asked, raising the rifle at her.

"Put your hands up!" the other one shouted.

"If you insist," Chase replied, and, lifting her guns in a flash, squeezed both triggers, sending shots into the guards. One guard caught a shot in the chest while the other was struck in the neck. She shoved her guns into the holsters and stepped forward to remove their rifles. She couldn't carry the rifles and her guns, so she rapidly unloaded them and disassembled them, scattering the parts to various corners of the hallway. To be sure, it could certainly be reassembled but it would take whoever attempted that task quite a while to locate all of the pieces.

"Chase, talk to me," Tuck barked into her ear suddenly.

"I'm here," she said. "FDR, you said down the hall and left again?"

"Roger that," FDR replied.

She walked down the hall slowly, her back to the wall on the right-hand side. When she reached the T-junction, she glanced left to locate the door to the office. Suddenly, a fist met her face and she went sprawling against the wall, sliding to the floor with a bark of pain.

"Chase!" Tuck shouted in her ear.

Another guard came around the corner then and towered over her as she struggled not to pass out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Another update today because I love you guys so much :-D THANK YOU THANK YOU for your reviews and please keep them a-comin'! **

**Chapter 6**

_Hold on. Hold on._

"Chase!" Tuck shouted again, urgently.

Chase huffed a breath and crab-walked backward quickly as the guard came after her, snarling. She noticed that his rifle was hanging from his shoulder, not in his hand, and that one seemingly meaningless choice he'd made would keep her alive, for now.

Her vision cleared finally. The stupid bastard had clocked her right in the middle of the face. She could feel blood dripping from her nose, and she'd cut her lip on her teeth. She tasted the coppery flavor on her tongue and it steeled her, steadied her.

She pushed off from the floor in a martial arts style, flipping over to land in a crouched position as he swung out with both arms, trying to grab her, and came up with only air. She propelled herself forward onto her hands, kicking up, the sole of her foot making contact directly with his face. As he stumbled back and grabbed for his face, she rushed toward him, shoulder-checking him roughly to throw him off balance into the wall, then grabbed his shoulder and drove her elbow hard into his temple. It wasn't enough to knock him out but he did fall to his knees. She brought her elbow down again into the back of his head. The impact brought him to his hands and knees, but still he remained conscious. He swiped out with a hand, trying to hit or grab her, and she grabbed his hand, practically jumping onto his back and wrenching his arm back hard.

"Go to _sleep_ already!" she hissed. She wrapped her other arm around his neck and squeezed as hard as she could, hanging on for dear life. He fell flat to his belly on the ground, kicking his legs and flailing with his other arm, choking and growling. Finally he went limp, but she held on a few moments longer to make sure he was really out. She let him go and backed up several steps. He remained motionless, so she set to work getting out another pair of zip ties and securing him. She briefly considered taking his rifle with her this time, but decided against it. She'd already cleaned out this side of the house – she knew she'd left no alive or conscious guards in her wake.

"Chase?" FDR's voice crackled in her ear.

"I'm good, entering the office," she said. She wiped blood off her face and tried the handle, finding it locked. She sighed heavily. "Seriously?" she mumbled. She reached into the side pocket of her tight shorts to find the small, flat package. She opened it and pulled out her lock-picking set. She had it unlocked in record time and slipped inside the office, shutting and locking it silently.

"I'm in," she breathed, moving quickly for the desk at the back of the room. She didn't dare turn on any lights. She slid into his desk chair and flipped open his laptop.

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Tuck asked.

Chase frowned as she clacked furiously at the keys. "I need to get _in_ first," she murmured back.

"Well, you _are _the queen of breaking into other people's shit," Tuck said sarcastically.

"I'm not even wasting my time with that," she replied. She restarted the computer. As it was booting, she hit a complex combination of keys to bring up a blank screen and typed in a long series of coding.

"What are you doing?" FDR asked.

"Giving his computer a little cold," she answered, squinting at the screen. The computer was processing her code. She counted to thirty and hit another combination of keys. Suddenly the computer squawked and went black. She smiled.

"You guys are so lucky I'm on this case with you," she said, shaking her head at her own genius and she pressed the power key again. The computer started up and brought her right to his home screen, completely bypassing the security prompt for a password. She reached into the neckline of her tank top again and withdrew a tiny chip. She inserted the chip into his laptop and pressed a button to begin the complete download of his hard drive.

"Now do you know what you're looking for?" Tuck asked.

"I'm just going to take his whole hard drive with us," she said lightly. As the computer progressed with its download, she yawned and stretched. Her jaw ached and she flexed it. "Bastard," she mumbled, rubbing it.

"Who? Tuck?" FDR asked, chuckling.

"_No_," she said, annoyed. "The stupid bastard that snuffed me."

FDR crowed. "I can't _wait _to see your face!"

The download was complete. She ejected the chip and stuffed it back into her bra. She closed the laptop and rose from the desk, returning the chair to its place under the desk and moved toward the door. She pressed her ear to it, listening for any noises. She opened the door and slipped through it, as soft and silent as a shadow.

"I'm heading out to you guys now," she murmured.

"All right. We're moving. I've got the back gate disabled and unlocked but it's only for twenty minutes."

"Look at you, hacker," she replied. "Twenty minutes. Piece of cake."

She jogged down the hall, leaping nimbly over the bodies that were there. She rounded the next corner and started down the hallway toward the door that opened to the stair case. She froze when she noticed that the body of the first guard that had attacked her at the door was gone.

"What the hell?" she said softly to herself, whirling around. There was no one else in sight.

"What?" Tuck asked.

"I left a body here," she said. "And now it's gone…"

She opened the door to the stair well and froze, the muzzle of Colt Python in her face.

"Hello," a low smooth voice said, and Chase gulped, recognizing the Russian from earlier. He advanced on her, and she skipped backward, until her back hit the wall. Her hand flew to the holster, to the Glock, but he pressed the hammer back on the Colt, stopping her.

"Uh-uh-uh," he warned softly, shaking a finger at her. "Don't do that. You'll be dead before you hit the floor."

"Oh, shit," FDR muttered.

"I'm coming in," Tuck growled.

"No," Chase said out loud. She meant it for Tuck.

"You will," the Russian said, mistaking her vocalization for him. "Now. I want you to tell me where Whistler is. I found your…garments…in the gallery."

"The gallery that doesn't exist, you mean?"

"That's the one," the Russian replied. "Tell me where he is."

"Wish I could help you, friend," she said. "Don't know where he went."

"What were you doing in his office?"

"Who says I was in his office?"

"Do you think I am stupid?" the Russian asked softly, leaning into her face, forcing her back against the wall. He held the pistol up to her forehead.

"Honestly?" she said, raising her hands to indicate she wasn't a threat. "Yeah. A little."

The answer seemed to irritate or confuse him; either way, it distracted him, and that instant was all she needed. She used her left hand to chop down on his arm while simultaneously sliding over out of the line of fire. He reflexively squeezed the trigger as she grabbed his arm with her other hand, pointing the gun upwards.

"Tuck, shots fired!" FDR said urgently. "Go faster!" He must have ignored her directive to stay put. Chase registered mild irritation and then refocused on the task at hand.

Gripping his hand hard, she whirled her body around to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Russian and used the same move on him as she had on Whistler – she yanked his thumb back, breaking it, and he dropped the gun. She set to work on his index finger while leaning all the way forward and bringing her leg back and up in a high kick, making hard contact with the back of his head. At the same time, she yanked his index finger viciously before righting herself and shoving him backward. She turned toward the gun he had dropped but before she could take one step, he'd grabbed her foot and yanked hard, pulling her roughly to the ground. She landed on her stomach and tried to roll over, kicking out as hard as she could. He grabbed one of her kicking legs and brutally twisted it, and she shrieked as sharp pain assaulted her knee.

He straddled her body, leering into her face as he tried to close his hands around her throat. She held him at bay with one forearm, straining, her arm shaking. Sweat broke out on her face. She slid her other hand down her thigh to pull out a knife. Just as the Russian's hands closed around her throat, she brought up her other arm, stabbing him directly in the shoulder.

She was vaguely aware of Tuck's and FDR's voices in her ear but she couldn't make out what was being said. The Russian howled and grabbed at his arm, letting go of her neck but still straddling her. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her knee and pressed her feet against the floor, violently bucking her hips and throwing the man forward. He was forced onto his hands, effectively allowing her maneuver into the space between his arms and his legs, just below his torso. He turned to grab her again but she threw her elbow into his ear hard, immediately following it with a hard chop of the same hand onto the back of his neck at his spine. He fell flat and she managed to wiggle out from underneath him, turning to go for the gun again.

Suddenly she felt a slashing pain across her ribs and screamed again, turning. He had yanked the knife out of his shoulder and slashed her viciously. He stabbed out again, the blade entering the soft flesh of her lower flank. It was shallow, but it still made her shriek with pain. She turned fast and panting, pulled the gun between her fingertips. She rolled onto her back to point it at him, but the back of his fist met her cheek and her head snapped to the side. She felt warmth on her cheek, knowing the skin had split over her cheekbone. He pinned the wrist holding the gun to the floor, resuming his straddled position over her chest. He used his other knee to pin her free arm to the floor at the wrist and held the knife to her cheek. Black spots swam in front of her eyes from the latest blow to her face and her eyelids fluttered rapidly as she struggled to stay conscious.

"I always liked the blade better myself," he breathed in her face. "It's more personal." He lifted it above her chest, preparing to slam it down.

The door to the stairwell slammed open just then and shots rang out, hitting the Russian in the side and the head. His body fell heavily across her, and the force made the air leave her lungs in a heavy grunt.

The weight suddenly lifted off her and she could breathe again. A hand slipped under her neck and she felt herself being pulled up.

"Chase."

Tuck's voice rolled into her ears and she tried to say something back but her voice failed her.

"She's alive," he said, presumably to FDR. "Not in good shape though." She felt his hands slide down her body, stopping at the wounds in her side. "Looks like she's been stabbed. I'm bringing her down now."

She managed to crack her eyes open then and found Tuck's face looming just above hers. She took in his very slight five o'clock shadow, his bright blue eyes. His full lips pulled into a relieved smile as he saw her come around. He was so close she could smell his spicy, heady cologne and the faint scent of wintergreen on his breath.

"There you are, love," he said in a voice so gentle she could hardly believe it was coming from him. She imagined that might be the voice he spoke to his son in – caring, almost loving. "We need to get you out of here," he went on.

"I-I can walk," she finally rasped, knowing full well she couldn't. But she didn't want Tuck to think she was weak or incapable of taking care of herself.

It was by sheer willpower that she managed to sit up on her own. Every part of her hurt. Besides the pain searing into her side from the knife wounds, her knee was aching terribly. Her face throbbed. And the wrist that had been pinned under the Russian's knee ached so much she wondered if the bone had been fractured slightly from the weight bearing down on it.

Tuck sat back on his heels, watching as she gritted her teeth and slowly rolled over to her hands and knees, preparing to stand. He stood first, reaching out to help her but she waved him off. Using the wall, she managed to rise to a standing position.

"You good, then?" he asked doubtfully.

She nodded, taking one step, and collapsed. Luckily, he was close enough that he managed to catch her before she hit the floor. She gripped his arms as they went around her strongly, pulling her against him.

"I've got you," he said, his tone surprisingly soothing. "You're in no shape for all these stairs, though." He slipped an arm under her knees and hoisted her up like she weighed nothing at all. He stepped through the door and started to descend the stairs rapidly. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled herself close as he continued down the stairs. Her other hand fisted into his shirt at his back.

"You guys need to hurry," FDR said, his tone clipped with agitation. "Got guards coming around your way."

When they hit the ground floor, Chase whirled her head, looking for the exit. She saw a door in the wall, but it didn't look like it went outside. Tuck headed for it anyway, and she helped him by reaching out to turn the knob and pull the door open.

"Pull it shut," he breathed when they were through, pausing on a staircase while she complied. He continued down a rickety wooden staircase, descending into the dark of a basement.

He came to a stop finally when he reached a desk just below a large window. She saw the glass had been broken out.

He set her down gently on the desk and she winced as she felt tiny shards of glass dig into the backs of her thighs. She gripped the edge of the desk to keep upright.

He jumped on the desk and then turned to hook his hands under her arms, hauling her up and back. She reflexively tried to balance, and let out a muffled cry of pain as her injured knee gave slightly and throbbed with pain.

He gripped her arm tighter. "What is it?"

"My knee," she panted. "Bastard twisted it." She glanced at the window. "Best if you go first, then pull me through."

Tuck pulled himself up and out of the window, his arms flexing as he gripped the window sill. He rolled onto his back and reached his arms through the window for her. She shakily reached back up for him.

"Can you give me a little hop?" he asked.

Chase balanced on her good leg and, bending it quickly, hopped into the air. Tuck used her momentum to pull her up and halfway out the window. He braced a foot against the brick of the house and pressed backward, hauling her up so she ended up on top of him. They both lay still, panting.

"Sorry," she murmured, looking down at him.

"No worries," he huffed. He rolled her gently to her side and got to his feet. He reached down to help her up.

"Guys, please," FDR said, his voice stressed. "Hurry!"

Tuck wrapped an arm around her waist and they started off across the lawn toward the black wrought iron gate. She tried to hobble along as fast as she could, not wanting to slow him down. To his credit, his was exceedingly patient with her.

"Almost there," he told her.

The pain in her side was excruciating. She tried not to think about how much blood she was losing, but even in the dark, she could see smudges on Tuck's hands and forearms she knew came from her. She knew she looked worse.

Sudden movement from across the lawn, behind an impressively tall shrub caught her eye. Moonlight glinted off a metal barrel as it was pointed in their direction. In an instant, her trained eye took in the height of the barrel off the ground, its angle, and mentally followed its trajectory. She wasn't particularly tall, standing five-feet four inches, and the direction the bullet would follow lined up more with Tuck's five-foot-ten height.

"Tuck!" she screamed, throwing her weight into him and taking them both down hard just as the shot pierced the air. Tuck immediately sat up, rolling her flat on her back and leaning over her to yank his gun from her holster. He returned fire, his eyes glinting ferociously. He sent five rapid shots back in the direction from which they had come. They heard an audible grunt of pain. Still leaning over Chase, he swept the gun over the expanse of the yard, searching for any other threats; the lawn appeared to be clear for now. They were both breathing raggedly.

She turned her face skyward, taking deep, greedy breaths into her lungs as she willed her pulse to slow. She realized Tuck's body was still stretched alongside hers and he was still leaning his upper body over the top of her. He stared down into her face and his hand automatically reached down to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.  
"Did you just save my life?" he asked quietly, his British accent flowing melodically into her ears.  
She sucked in a breath. "I'm pretty sure you saved mine first," she rasped. She looked up into his face and they locked gazes for a long moment. His eyes crawled all over her face, spending especial time on her mouth and her eyes. For her part, she had no idea how long she stared up at him but she didn't care if it went on forever.  
The moment was shattered when she was forced to turn her head as a hacking cough wracked her body. She pulled her fingers away and saw blood.

"Christ," he exclaimed, grabbing her hand. She shook her head rapidly.

"I split my lip and bit my tongue earlier," she said hoarsely. Her fingers closed around his hand, her eyes finding his again. "I'm all right, Tuck."

"This is so touching, you guys," FDR said tightly, "but if you could _please…"_

"Let's go before the old boy has a heart attack," Tuck said. He pushed himself up to his knees and helped her sit up, then wrapped an arm around her waist to help her stand. He hauled her up and they continued to hobble forward.

FDR started loudly counting down the last thirty seconds the gate would be able to remain open and finally, Tuck scooped her up again and barreled through the gate, squeezing in through the rapidly narrowing opening. Chase tucked her head into his chest to avoid being decapitated and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the van just up ahead.

"Tuck," she murmured, looking up into his face.

"Yes," he panted back, sparing her a glance.

"Thank you," she replied. "I've been in some tight situations before, but if you hadn't shown up when you did…" She let out a shaky breath, instinctively burying her face to his chest. She realized what she'd done and pulled her head back, blushing. It was the pain, she wasn't thinking straight, she told herself.

"You did the same for me," he said calmly, belying his galloping pulse that had picked up speed when she'd clutched him for an instant. "Now let's get out of here."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note - Hi lovahs! Back with another one. Might do a couple updates today for you :-) Shout out to NoirChick, Ctinaisfashion and loveorpain for your reviews - they mean a lot! Thank you and please R&R.**

**Chapter 7**

Tuck had no idea just how badly Chase had been hurt until they arrived back at the CIA. Boyles and Downing "escorted" Whistler into a holding cell. The art dealer was just starting to come around and was getting a little sassy. He and FDR helped the wounded agent from the van and once they were all inside the brightly lit field office, Tuck had to suppress an expletive of horror, swiping a hand over his face to settle over his mouth.

Chase had a cut and a bruise on her cheekbone, a split lower lip and a gash over her eyebrow. Contusions of various shades of blue and purple littered her smooth, creamy bronze skin. Her knee was swollen and worst of all was her side - her tank top was split open over her ribs, bright red with bloody flesh. The stab wound in her lower flank, though mostly superficial, had bled profusely. There was blood smeared all over her stomach and all down her thigh. Her smoky blue-gray eyes were hazy with dehydration caused by blood loss.

She stumbled slightly as they helped her out of the van, her head lolling.

"Good fucking gracious," FDR huffed, supporting her with his good arm. "Did she just die? Is she dead but walking, is that what's going on?"

"Shut up, mate," Tuck hissed. They dragged her back toward the medical office. "Medic!" he bellowed.

The on-site medics came rushing out with a stretcher as Downing and Boyles came back from tucking in Whistler.

"Jesus Christ!" Downing cried as Chase was loaded onto the stretcher and wheeled away. Her eyes had fluttered shut and she lay motionless.

"You two look awfully...pristine," Boyles noted, giving the two agents a head-to-toe look. "What's up with making the new girl do all the work?"

"Hey," FDR said, holding up a hand.

"Walk away, mate," Tuck added, glaring.

Collins walked up to them. Though it was almost ten o'clock at night she had insisted on being contacted when the mission was complete. Despite the late hour, Collins looked immaculately put together as she always did.

"Sit-rep," she barked at FDR and Tuck.

"Whistler has been apprehended," FDR replied.

Tuck handed over the chip Chase had given him in the van. He briefly recalled seeing her dig into her cleavage to pull it out.

"This is everything off Whistler's hard drive," he added.

Collins sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she took the chip. "She did this?" Collins asked them.

They both nodded. "Everything," Tuck said with a shrug. He jerked his head toward the medical office. "She took the worst of it, too."

"Let's go in and see her," Collins said, striding into the office.

Chase was sitting on the medical table, leaned over. She held an icepack to her knee and her face was scrunched up in pain as the medic was trying to clean her wounds. Tuck noticed she had not yet been stitched up, but she looked more focused. He noticed the opened water bottle nearby and also the IV drip in her arm.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hi," she rasped back through clenched teeth. She hissed a sharp breath when the medic began to stitch her up.

"Agent, please hold still," the medic said sternly.

"Aw, goddammit, that hurts!" she groaned. Then she saw Collins and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Don't worry about it," Collins replied. She extended her hand, and Chase struggled to grasp it, the IV tugging the needle in her arm.

"Agent, thank you for the incredible job you did," she said warmly. "We have Whistler in custody and his hard drive, thanks to you." Chase looked embarrassed and shook her head.

"I did nothing alone," she replied softly. "These two deserve the credit. FDR told me where I needed to go. Tuck even saved my life." She shot the handsome agent a look from under her lashes. Suddenly she let out a growl of pain and whirled her head to glare at the medic. "You trying to fuckin' kill me?" she demanded, gritting her teeth.

"_No_, ma'am," the medic replied in a clipped tone.

"No one is trying to kill you," Tuck said calmly. "How's the knee?"

"Mild sprain," the medic replied, snipping off the thread after tying off her stitches. "She needs ice and crutches for a week, preferably two."

"Mild, my ass," Chase muttered.

The other medic came back holding a pair of crutches out to her. Chase glowered at him. He paled and visibly cowered, holding the crutches out in front of him like a shield.

"'S all right," Tuck said to the medic, reaching forward to take the crutches. "She's a bit grouchy." Chase tossed the ice pack aside and snatched the crutches from him.  
"Well, let's go do this," she said, hopping slightly as she placed the crutches under her arms. "Where's Whistler?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Collins said, holding out her hands. "Whistler can wait until later. You need to go home and rest, Agent."

Chase frowned. "But -"

"That's an order, Agent," Collins said in that light tone of hers that commanded obedience. Tuck hid a smile. Even the feisty New York agent knew to let the matter rest. She sighed and leaned back on her crutches.

"No driving tonight, as well," the medic who had stitched her up added.

"Well, I couldn't even if I wanted to," Chase said with a shrug. "Boyles picked me up at the B&B in Pasadena."

"B&B?" FDR repeated.

"A bed and breakfast," Tuck replied.

"Where I'm staying," Chase added. "You didn't think I was going to sleep on the street, did you?"

"Not at all," FDR shot back. "I just thought you paper-pusher East Coast types required the Four Season, the Mandarin Oriental and all that."

"Call me a paper-pusher one more time and see what happens," Chase said quietly, holding the crutch under her right arm like a gun.

"Well, one of you give her a ride home." Collins turned to Chase, holding up her finger. "I don't want to see you before Monday," she said warningly.

"Yes, ma'am," Chase said meekly.

As Collins walked off, FDR turned to them. "Hey, Chase, I would drop you off but tonight's date night, and I'm already late. Lauren might kill me." He lifted an apologetic eyebrow. When Chase nodded and glanced away, FDR met Tuck's eyes and gave him a hard, meaningful stare.

Tuck held his hands out, exasperated. "I was supposed to pick up Joe for the weekend," he exclaimed. "Katie has been texting me for the last two hours."

Chase shrugged, frowning at them both. "I'm not sure what any of this has to do with me," she said. "You do have public transportation in this city, don't you? I can catch a cab. I'm from New York. That's what we do."

She turned again, reaching for the ice pack, and FDR gestured almost violently toward the agent, glaring at Tuck. _Take her home,_ he mouthed.

Tuck rolled his eyes. "Ehm, Chase," he said. "I can take you home, if you don't mind stopping off first so I can pick up Joe."

"Of course I don't mind," she said. "You seriously do not need to drive me to my place, though."

"I can't let you go alone," he said. "If you're ready, we can go."

A short while later, Chase followed him out to the parking garage where his huge, shiny black F150 truck sat. He opened the cab door for her and she stared doubtfully up at the tall seat.

He chuckled, taking her crutches from her carefully and loading them into the backseat. He turned back to her and held out his hands.

"Don't pull my stitches," she warned before she allowed him to lift her into the truck, using her good leg to give a little hop to help him along. He shut her door and jogged around to his side, climbing in and starting the engine. As they pulled off, he glanced at her. Most of the blood had been cleaned off her and the IV fluid and water seemed to have helped a great deal. Her face still made him wince slightly.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly said, "I sure hope I don't scare Joe, with my face like this." She gestured vaguely at her head.

Tuck shrugged. "Joe is really mature for a seven-year-old," he replied. "He'll probably ask you what happened but it won't scare him at all." He glanced at her again. "Hell of a first day, yeah?"

She chuckled. "This is far from my first day, Tuck."

"I just meant being a visitor and all," Tuck clarified. "No paper-pushing in LA." His blue eyes glinted teasingly at her.

She gave him a dirty look, but couldn't hide a smile. "I guess not."

"Honestly, though," Tuck went on. "You were amazing tonight."

"Stop," she said, sounding embarrassed. She changed the subject. "When are you planning to interrogate Whistler?"

Tuck shrugged. "Not sure. Why?"

Chase sat up and sighed. "Well, if its tomorrow, hopefully Collins doesn't kick my ass for disobeying an order and coming in."

"Wait," Tuck said, shaking his head. "Why would you come in when she told you explicitly she did not want you to?"

Chase looked at him like he'd sprouted wings. "Did you think I wouldn't be present for the interrogation?"

"What difference does it make if you are or aren't?" Tuck asked, mystified. "I don't know if you know this, but Frank and I have conducted an interrogation a time or two in our pathetic careers."

Chase opened her mouth to say something then thought better of it, closing her mouth with a snap. She looked away.

It hit Tuck at once. "You don't think we can handle it," he said testily.

"It's not that, I didn't say that," Chase said, holding up a finger.

"Then what?"

"I...I just want to make sure it's done correctly. That's all."

"Done correctly?" Tuck repeated, beside himself. "Are you mad?"

"Look, it doesn't hurt to have a few heads in the room. Maybe I will have some questions you guys didn't think to ask."

Tuck let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. "You're a control freak," he exclaimed. "You think you're so much better at this job than everyone else."

"Not everyone else," Chase corrected quickly, defensively. "Just..." She trailed off.

Tuck pulled into Katie's driveway and turned to face her. "Just me and FDR," he finished with a glare.

"Look, there's your son," Chase said, changing the subject. She pointed to the small boy running to the truck, clutching a backpack and a small baggie in one hand. A slim, dark-haired woman stopped to pull him close, hugging him.

"What's that in his hand?" Chase asked, squinting.

"It's more than likely a peanut butter and banana sandwich," Tuck said with a chuckle. "Ever since he found out what I do for a living, he's always concerned that I'm not eating properly. He learned at karate that after strenuous physical activity, it's always best to replenish your energy. It's the only thing he knows how to make."

"That's very wise," Chase said, and Tuck saw the genuine smile of appreciate on her face.

He opened his door when the boy finally disentangled himself from his mother's arms and rushed toward him. Chase watched as father scooped son into a bear hug before turning to wave at his ex-wife. She waved back and smiled, her eyes lighting curiously on Chase for a brief moment before turning to go back into her home.

Tuck opened the door and lifted the boy into the backseat of the cab before climbing in. Chase turned to speak to the boy but he beat her to it.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Joe," Tuck chastised. "It's polite to say hello first."

"Hello," Joe amended. "Who are you?"

Chase extended her hand over the backseat and the boy reached up and grasped it with his own. "The name's Chase, kid. That's a nice firm grip you have there."

"Thanks, I practice," Joe replied. "Chase? Isn't that a boy's name?"

"I don't know," Chase said, furrowing her brow. "Is it?"

"I think so," Joe answered. "But that's ok. I won't hold it against you."

"Thank you," Chase replied seriously. "I appreciate it."

"Do you work with my dad?" Joe continued. "What happened to your face?"

"Joe," Tuck said, a warning note in his voice.

"It's ok," Chase replied. "Yes, I work with your dad. And what happened to my face is that we were on a mission tonight and I got into some fights."

"What sort of a mission?" Joe sounded awestruck.

"The usual," Chase answered. "Us against the bad guys."

"Did you win?"

"This time around."

"Why do you talk funny?"

"Joe!" Tuck exclaimed.

"Funny like how?" Chase asked.

"You have an accent. Like my dad. Well, not exactly like his but you have an accent. Where are you from?"

"New York."

"Does everybody talk like that there?"

"Some do," Chase replied, smiling.

"I want to go to New York one day," Joe said.

"You'll like it," Chase said. "It's big and scary and fast. And," she leaned closer to him to whisper conspiratorially, "in the right neighborhoods, there are pizza places on every corner with slices the size of your head."

"Wow," Joe breathed. "Do they have Disney Land?"

"No, no Disney Land," Chase said, shrugging ruefully. "But there's the Statue of Liberty, and Ground Zero, and the Empire State Building, and Ellis Island, and Coney Island, which is kinda like Santa Monica Pier but way better."

"Hmm," Joe said doubtfully. "I don't know. I'd have to see it for myself, I think."

"A wise man," Chase said with a nod. "I can dig that."

"We have the Lakers," Joe offered. "I'm not sure anything can top that."

"We have the Knicks," Chase replied.

"Well…we have the Clippers."

"We have the Nets," Chase smiled back.

"Um…we have the Dodgers, the Angels, the Padres and the Giants!"

"We have the Yankees and the Mets," Chase said, "so you win that one. But, really, who watches baseball like that anyway?"

"You're right," Joe conceded. "We have the Raiders and the Chargers!"

"You have the Raiders," Chase allowed, "but you don't have the Chargers – that's San Diego. We have the Jets and the Giants so I win that one."

Tuck smiled as he listened to their back and forth banter about which city was better. He liked the way Chase talked to Joe like he was a peer, not a child. She seemed very comfortable with him. They did seem to get on famously.

He knew the deal was sealed when Joe said, "Dad, you should give Chase your sandwich."

"What?" Tuck asked, shocked. "You want me to give _her_ _my_ sandwich?"

"Yes," Joe replied. "It looks like she worked harder than you did tonight. Her face is all…lumpy. And I like her. I only give people I like my sandwiches."

"Really," Chase said very seriously. "Who else gets your sandwiches?"

"Just Dad and Mom," Joe said. "Uncle Frank sometimes. Oh, and Lauren."

"That's a pretty small circle you got there," Chase said.

"I'm selective." Joe shifted his eyes to his father. "Dad, the sandwich."

"Give me the sandwich," Chase said.

"Can you even appreciate peanut butter and banana?" Tuck demanded, cutting his eyes from the road to Chase.

"It depends." Chase glanced at Joe over her shoulder. "Did you cut the crusts off?"

"Yes. Duh."

"Peanut butter on _both _sides of the bread?"

"Of course," Joe said scornfully.

"Banana on _both _slices?"

"What am I, a rookie?" Joe said.

"Ok, ok," Chase said, narrowing her eyes at him. "That's pretty good. But this is the clincher. Brown sugar?"

"_And _a drizzle of honey _and _a sprinkle of cinnamon," Joe said with a smirk.

Chase whipped her head toward Tuck. "Tuck, give me the sandwich. Now."

He chuckled and handed it over. Joe looked at Chase expectantly as she opened up the plastic baggie and pulled it partway out. It was huge and thick, banana slices already falling to the bottom of the bag in a peanut buttery, honeyed mess, but Chase nevertheless took a huge bite and chewed contentedly.

"Well?" Joe demanded.

By way of reply, Chase held up her hand and Joe high-fived her hard, grinning enormously. Tuck felt his own grin cross his face.

They chatted a bit more while Chase finished the sandwich and Joe eventually fell asleep. Tuck took the exit for Pasadena.

"It's the one off Arroyo?" he asked.

"Yep," Chase replied. "You ever stayed there?"

"No," he said, "but I've passed it before."

"It's very nice, but they don't let you have alcohol," Chase said with a yawn.

"Big drinker, are you?"

"Not really," she answered. "I just like my scotch."

"You don't strike me as the type to follow the rules," Tuck said, slightly sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm definitely not," Chase replied. "I keep a bottle stashed away in my stuff." She smiled when Tuck let out a bark of laughter. "You laugh, but I'm dead serious."

"I know, that's why it's funny," he chuckled.

"I have to hide it," Chase added. "I'm the only guest at the moment so I'm the center of attention." She smirked when Tuck laughed again.

They rode in silence for a bit, then Chase cleared her throat. "Um. You – you have an amazing kid," she said earnestly, watching a smile spread across Tuck's face at her words.

"Thank you," he said. "I know."

"Seriously…he's so smart. You and Katie have raised him well."

Tuck didn't answer, merely smiled again and nodded.

Chase glanced back at the sleeping boy. "You really love him, don't you?"

"He's my reason for existing," Tuck said simply. "You're great with him, by the way. You said you don't have any children of your own, but do you have any younger siblings?"

"I do," she replied. "And I have a niece and a nephew. Mia and Dante. They're my little sister's." She laughed at that. "That sounded weird. She's twenty-seven. But she's two years younger than me."

"I figured something like that," Tuck smiled.

He pulled up in front of a large, well-kept old-fashioned home in a quiet residential neighborhood. The front of the house had a covered porch with multiple white columns.

"It looks nice," he commented.

"It's actually really lovely on the inside," Chase replied. "They remodeled in 2007 and the guest rooms are very contemporary, very comfortable. The breakfasts are amazing. I'll probably gain ten pounds just from staying here." She patted her firm stomach and laughed. Her chuckled turned rueful as she glanced at the crutches. "I was supposed to go running tomorrow and Saturday…" She sighed.

"Give it time," Tuck replied lightly. "You'll be running 10Ks again in no time."

"Yeah," she said with a wry smirk. She reached for the door.

"Stay put, I'll get it." Tuck jumped out of the truck and jogged around to her side, opening the door for her. "Hand me your crutches." He took them from her and rested them against the truck, then reached up for her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he hooked his under her arms. She gave another little hop and he swung her out of the truck, setting her down lightly on her feet. For a moment, neither of them let go, meeting and locking gazes.

Tuck cleared his throat and turned to reach behind him for the crutches, an excuse to break eye contact with her and simultaneously an opportunity to take a deep breath. His pulse had sped up and his face felt warm.

"Here you are," he said, turning back and handing over the crutches. She nodded her thanks, not meeting his eyes, and positioned the crutches under her arms. She hobbled onto the sidewalk and he walked with her as she made her way up the stairs that led to the house. When she reached the front door, she turned to face him.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, then mentally cursed himself for the way it came out. He sounded like a lovesick teenager on his first date.

She smirked at him. "That depends. Are you going to interrogate Whistler or not?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, probably not. We like to let them sit and think about what they've done for a while." He feigned a stern fatherly tone as he said it, making her chuckle. "So, it would seem, you'll be forced to rest until Monday then."

"What about the hard drive?"

"Collins has it. I think she was going to run it through the tech lab first and see what they can find. You were able to bypass the main security code, but he has encrypted files that will require some hacking."

"Clever dirty art dealer," Chase murmured, glancing off into the distance as she narrowed her eyes. She glanced back at Tuck. "So, I guess I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Monday," Tuck echoed, as they locked gazes again.

"Have fun with Joe this weekend. Thank him again for the sandwich."

"I will," Tuck said, nodding slightly. "On both counts."

Just then, the front door opened and a middle-aged woman that reminded Tuck of FDR's Nana peeked out. Her eyes widened as she took Chase in.

"My dear, what –"

"I'm ok, Mrs. Brown," Chase said hurriedly.

"Well, you said you had a big date tonight and you left in a gown and now –" Her eyes fell on Tuck and they widened even more.

"Hello, how are you?" he asked politely.

Mrs. Brown smiled hugely and blushed slightly. "You must the handsome British date I've been hearing about all afternoon," she said, extending her hand.

Tuck took it and gave it a little shake, smiling and cocking his head at Chase. She looked absolutely mortified. "Is that right?" he asked. "She's very kind to talk me up so."

"Oh, you should have heard what she said about your –"

"Okay!" Chase exclaimed, letting out a big, fake laugh. "Mrs. Brown, could you help me upstairs, please?"

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Brown said, pulling the agent into her arms. She smiled at Tuck. "I sure I hope I see you again."

"I'll make sure of it," Tuck said politely, unable to stop grinning. He immensely enjoyed Chase's obvious discomfort. "Good night," he added to Chase.

"Good night," she replied, giving him a tiny smile before shutting the door.

He was still grinning when he got back in his truck, started the engine, and drove off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note - Short fluffy chapter for you :-) Sorry for any typos, I'm in a bit of a rush! I'll try to clean it up later. But you get the gist.**

**Chapter 8**

Chase was bored. Bored out of her skull.

She'd been a federal agent for over seven years, having joined right out of college. She could only think of perhaps two other times where she'd been on a case and been this bored. It was excruciating.

Mrs. Brown had been fussing over her since she'd returned to the B&B last night, and hadn't let up. She made sure Chase remain in bed, with her knee propped up in its brace on a pillow. She came to give Chase her antibiotics, check the dressing over her stitches, give her a special healing ointment to put on the cuts and contusions on her body, and had brought her a near constant stream of snacks and beverages. She'd brought in every magazine and newspaper in the house as well as giving Chase permission to order any and all movies she wanted from the satellite channels. Chase knew she should be absolutely entertained, but she simply could not get past the antsy feeling that had plagued her since she woke up. She should be at work. Working.

She did have her laptop with her, but the first email she'd received was from Collins, telling her not to answer any emails until Monday, stressing the need for her to rest and recuperate. She'd emailed back saying that yes, she understood but would Collins be so kind as to send her any information regarding updates to the hard drive? She hadn't received a reply and that had been over five hours ago.

Chase sighed, flipping through channels on the TV aimlessly. Daytime television was abominable. To make matters worse, it was a gorgeous day outside. The warm, bright spring weather made her want to be outdoors worse than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

She struggled out of bed and hobbled over to the window. She cracked it open slightly, and a warm breeze, smelling like a heady combination of jasmine, juniper and gardenia wafted into her face, blowing back strands of her hair.

"Mmm," she murmured. If she had to be confined to the house and _not _work…the least she could do was get to sit outside.

She was plotting ways to sneak outside when Mrs. Brown knocked on her door.

"Come in," Chase called.

The elderly woman entered the room, holding a tray with a sweating glass of lemonade and a small fruit salad. "Hello, dear," she said cheerfully. "Just what are you doing out of bed?"

Chase suddenly felt like a naughty child caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. "Just looking outside," she said in a wheedling tone. "It's so nice outside…"

Mrs. Brown sighed. "You should be lying down in bed," she said firmly. "You got stabbed last night, for crying out loud." Chase had told her host that she'd gotten mugged and had fought off her attackers.

"I know but I feel fine," Chase said. She had to laugh at the situation mentally; she was a grown woman begging with the hostess of an inn to sit outside on the porch.

"All right," Mrs. Brown relented. "I'm sure you have been horribly cooped up today."

She helped Chase down the stairs and out to the porch, setting down the snack she'd brought. She pulled the other porch chair over so Chase could prop up her injured leg, and left her in peace.

Chase had brought her laptop, phone and iPad with her. She kept checking her email, knowing by now that it would be in vain. She wondered if Collins had deliberately told people not to contact her today. She drank in the sunshine and rocked gently in her chair, pressing off on the porch floor with the foot of her uninjured leg. The sweet fragrance she'd smelled earlier came from the bushes surrounding the porch. Mrs. Brown had planted an array of flowers and there was even an orange tree in her front yard, on the side closest to where Chase was now sitting. The citrusy aroma mingled in with the floral and it was almost intoxicating. Chase leaned her head back on the chair and shut her eyes contentedly.

:O:O:O:

"Little light reading on your new girlfriend?"

Tuck jumped a mile and slapped his laptop shut, whirling to see FDR leering over his shoulder. He jabbed out toward his friend but FDR deftly moved out of the way.

"I see you had the CIA's employee profile pulled up on one Chase Moreno." FDR gave Tuck a pointed look as he took his seat behind his desk.

Tuck _had_ been reading the CIA's employee profile on one Chase Moreno, he couldn't deny that. He'd gone to bed with her on the brain and woken up with her on the brain. To be sure, she'd been on his brain since he'd first seen her at the strip club in Vegas. Now it was in a much more intense, personal way. And to top it all off, his own son was completely smitten with the woman, demanding he see her again soon.

"Yes, well, what of it?" Tuck muttered in reply, turning back to his work computer.

"Someone's got it bad for the new agent," FDR teased. He lifted the hand of his good arm in the air at Tuck's annoyed expression. "Hey, man, I understand. She's hot, and she's a bad-ass. If I weren't engaged –"

"If you weren't engaged it wouldn't matter anyway, because she'd never go for a chap like you to begin with," Tuck finished matter-of-factly.

FDR looked hurt. "Exactly why the hell not?"

"She's a bit too grown up for you, mate," Tuck replied.

"I believe she's actually younger than both of us, technically."

"That's not what I meant, and that right there is a perfect example of how you would never be suitable for her," Tuck said, smiling. "Anyway…mind your own business."

"Now that I have a fiancée and I'm getting ready to get married, your love life _is_ my business," FDR replied. "Ever since you and Katie finally called it quits, man, I've just…well, I would like for you to be as happy with someone as I am with Lauren."

He was speaking so earnestly, his eyes downcast toward his desk, he didn't see the crumpled up ball of paper until it hit him square in the eye.

"What the fuck, man?" he demanded.

"You sound ridiculous," Tuck said.

"I sound like you used to, before you got all bitter," FDR shot back. "All I'm saying is, don't give up on love." He ducked then, as a hail of paper balls came flying at him.

"'Don't give up on love'?" Tuck crowed. "Do you hear yourself, mate?"

"Do you hear _your_self?" FDR shot back, flinging a paper ball back at him before sinking the rest in the trashcan ten feet away. "Seriously. Mr. Bitters, over there."

"Can you blame me?" Tuck said crossly. "I haven't exactly been lucky."

"You just need someone that gets you," FDR said.

"And you think Agent Moreno 'gets' me?" Tuck said. "She doesn't even know me."

"Exactly. That's why you need to put yourself out there. She's already met Joe. You said they hit it off."

"Yes," Tuck admitted.

"Well, I know how important that is to you. You should invite her to do something with both of you, if you're not ready for a one-on-one type thing yet."

"Yet?" Tuck repeated. "More like if ever. We're working together now. I believe the agency frowns on that sort of thing."

"Temporarily," FDR pointed out, "and her field office is in New York. So really, you're not breaking any rules here."

"Maybe," Tuck muttered. His friend might have a point.

"Think about it," FDR said. He glanced at his watch. "Quittin' time, homie. What are you and Joe doing tonight?"

"He wants to go see a movie," Tuck replied. He caught the meaningful look in FDR's eyes and shook his head. "No. Not tonight. Joe said he wanted a 'boy's night out' with me."

"Well, think of something," FDR urged. "And let me know how it goes." He stood up and grabbed his jacket, pointing a finger at Tuck's face. "I will be checking in on you."

Tuck waved a hand as his friend strode off, turning back to his computer. He lifted the screen of his laptop back up and looked again at Chase's profile. Her email address was listed.

Before he could lose his nerve, he typed out a quick email and sent it off.

:O:O:O:

_Tink._

With a snort, Chase jerked awake. She looked around wildly, reaching for her gun that wasn't there. For a moment, she was totally confused as to where she was. She glanced around and realized she was still on the porch outside, in the rocking chair. Her leg was still propped up before her, except now it was totally asleep. She grabbed for her phone, checking the time, and saw she'd been out for a solid hour and a half.

The noise that had woken her was her email going off. A work email, finally. The time was odd, though. It was four o'clock on a Friday and people were starting to knock off early for the weekend. Who would be emailing her about work this late in the day?

Her heart rate picked up slightly when she saw who the email was from. Hansen, Tuck.

She opened it quickly and read it aloud to herself. "'Hello there. What is your mobile number?'" Curious, she replied and included her cell phone number.

A few minutes went by and she sat rigidly in her chair, her leg unconsciously pumping against the wooden floor of the porch. Finally, her phone rang and it was a California number she didn't recognize. She took a deep breath, realizing she was actually nervous, and answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" she said, hoping she didn't sound too breathless.

Tuck's warm, accented voice filled her ear. "Hello, how are you doing today?" he said. "This is Tuck."

"I figured as much," she replied, smiling. "I'm fine, I guess. Physically I'm decent. Mentally, I'm so bored I could cry."

"I bet," Tuck chuckled in her ear. "I've been thinking about you today."

Her heart accelerated. "Really?"

"Uh, I meant, I've been concerned about your wounds," he rushed to say. "Wondering if you were all right. I didn't want to disturb your rest today, though."

"Oh," Chase said, feeling strangely disappointed. "Oh. Well, that's nice of you. And like I said, I'm fine. Feeling better."

There was a slight pause, then Tuck spoke again. "Well, there is something else. I – well, Joe has a karate tournament Sunday morning at ten. He said he wants you to come. I told him you weren't feeling well yesterday and might not be up to it. But, if you're feeling better, the honor of your presence is humbly requested."

"I'd love to," Chase said immediately. She felt a wide smile spread over her face. "That sounds awesome."

"Really?" Tuck sounded almost surprised. "Uh, right. Well, the tournament will be in Santa Monica, I can text you the address and directions. I thought maybe I'd take him along the beach and pier as well."

"It sounds wonderful," Chase said. "I'll see you there. At ten. On Sunday."

"Great," he replied, and his voice sounded relieved. "Right. Well, I'm off to pick up Joe from school. I'll um, I'll see you on Sunday, then."

"You guys have fun tonight," she replied. "Later."

As she hung up the phone, she couldn't help another smile. A few moments later, her phone buzzed, signaling a text message. It was from Tuck, the address and easy directions to the tournament location as promised.

"Thanks," she typed out, "can't wait."

A few moments passed and her phone buzzed again.

"Me either."

The two words glowed up at her. She stared so hard at them she barely heard Mrs. Brown come outside.

"Feeling better, dear? You look flushed."

"Yes!" she said with a smile. "I suddenly feel great."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note - thank you everyone for your reviews! I truly appreciate them all and try to respond to every one I get personally. Please enjoy this chapter and read and review! It's fluffy, but important for building Tuck's and Chase's relationship. Because after this I'm about to dump it on its head. :-)**

**Chapter 9**

Chase woke up early on Sunday. She was more nervous than she personally cared to admit to anyone, least of all herself. She was slightly annoyed at her irritation. After all, this wasn't a date. She was just going to support the child of a colleague, one who she didn't even particularly like that much. Chase scoffed at the idea. This was strictly for Joe. _Strictly for the kid,_ she told herself firmly.

Nevertheless, she spent a half an hour trying to find the right outfit. One reason was to make sure she could accommodate the bulky knee brace she had to wear. Another reason was that...well, she wanted to look nice.

She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy and settled on a pair of dark blue shorts, a pale yellow sleeveless silk top and a pale gray, hip-length blazer. She wasn't ready for a heel of any sort so she selected camel-colored flat sandals.

She was fussing with her hair, currently straightened and hanging down her back, contemplating putting it up, when Mrs. Brown knocked on the door.

"Come on in, Mrs. B," Chase called, fluffing her hair out irritably. The door opened and Mrs. Brown stood smiling at her from the doorway.

"I just came to let you know breakfast is ready," she said.

"Aw, thank you, Mrs. B. You did not need to go out of your way this morning."

"Well, Santa Monica is a bit of a drive from here. If you want to be there on time, you'll need to leave around nine and that doesn't leave a whole lot of time for breakfast if I didn't get up a little earlier."

Chase smiled at her from the mirror. "Well, I certainly do appreciate it," she said. She looked at the older woman, sweeping her hair up. "Up or down?"

"I like it down," Mrs. Brown said. "You do look so lovely this morning." Her smile turned mischievous. "Special date today? That handsome English fellow, perhaps?"

Chase flipped her hair back and grabbed her clutch purse. "It's not a date." She spritzed herself with some perfume and grabbed her crutches. She turned to leave the room.

Mrs. Brown stood back and let her pass, smirking. "Of course. Because I always spray myself with expensive Italian perfume when I'm not planning on spending time with someone special."

Chase glanced at her, her mouth slightly open.

Mrs. Brown held her hands up. "No more from me. Eggs, bacon and fruit salad waiting for you in the dining room."

They sat down to breakfast. Chase wolfed hers down, glancing at her watch constantly. Her stomach roiled with anticipation and nerves. She hadn't been on an..._outing_ with a man in over a year, not since she'd been engaged. And she'd been with her ex for six years, so she had no idea how to do this.

_Not that there's anything _to_ do,_ she reminded herself.

When Mrs. Brown had finished her breakfast, Chase rose to her feet without thinking, her knee groaning in protest. She'd been icing, medicating and elevating it like her life depended on it. Her efforts had paid off slightly; the swelling in her knee had gone down and the pain had lessened dramatically. Although the medic had advised her rather sternly to use the crutches for a week, Chase realistically didn't see herself on them for too many more days. They were a serious annoyance. She grumbled to herself as she reached for them and placed them under her arms.

"Can I help you in the kitchen?" she asked, tapping her fingers restlessly on the crutches.

Mrs. Brown laughed at her outright. "Chase," she started, rising to her feet and gathering their dishes, "I find it very difficult to believe that a woman as attractive as yourself is this nervous about a date."

"It's not a date," Chase corrected automatically. "And thank you for the compliment but it's been a long time since I spent time with anyone of the opposite sex. I'm sort of a workaholic."

"There are things in life much more important than work," Mrs. Brown said. "Just don't forget that. Now you better be going. And good luck. And if that handsome man happens to want to come back here and let me look at him some more, well, I'm happy to make that accommodation."

Chase tilted her head and burst out laughing, the humor doing wonders for her nerves and relaxing her. "I will be sure to keep that in mind and pass that along," she replied with a smile.

She hobbled out to her rental, a white Nissan Altima. It had tinted windows and a California license plate; she didn't want any extra attention with out-of-state license plates.

As she drove toward Santa Monica, her stomach started to tighten with nerves again. She tried to listen to some music on the way to calm herself, but it didn't do too much good. When the GPS navigation told her she was a few blocks from the tournament location, she pulled into a Starbucks. She eschewed the extraordinarily long drive-up line and hobbled inside to order two iced lattes. As she leaned against the counter, waiting for her drinks to be made, she glanced over the frames of her sunglasses around the coffee chain. Her eyes lit on a familiar-looking man sitting by himself at a table in the corner. He was scruffy and wearing blacked-out sunglasses, dressed in a casual navy blue polo shirt and khaki shorts with sandals. She frowned, pulling her shades down lower on her nose, her eyes boring into him, trying to place his familiarity. At that moment, his head slowly turned in her direction. She couldn't see his eyes behind his large sunglasses but she knew he was looking right at her. Something like a smirk crossed his face.

"Amy," the barista called. Chase turned, hearing the false name she'd given, and collected her beverages. She'd only used one crutch to come inside, and the barista was kind enough to secure the drinks in a drink carrier.

She hobbled toward the door and turned her body, preparing to use her shoulder to push the door open, when a large, meaty hand reached around from behind her to push it open. She came face-to-face with the man in the corner, still wearing the smirk.

"Thanks," she said in a low voice. "Do I know you?"

"No," the man said in an accented voice that Chase immediately recognized as Russian. She tensed.

He gestured out the door for her to proceed. She stepped out, hobbling away from him quickly. It wasn't Kozlov, she was sure of it; he had to be one of his capos that had gone running from the club in Vegas when Boris had left. She watched as he quickly hopped into an unmarked car, wishing she had her gun. He started to pull away, then rolled the window down.

"I know you though, Agent Moreno," he called to her, and drove off.

Chase froze. For the first time in her career, she wasn't sure what to do. She thought about calling the agency, but to do what? _Tell them a tubby Russian with seventy-five percent of his face covered held a door open for me at Starbucks and made me? _she thought sarcastically.

All she could do at this point was keep her eyes wide, wide open. In the meantime...she was going to be late if she didn't hurry.

:O:O:O:

"All right, Joe," Tuck said as his son's coach approached. "Just remember what I showed you, ok?"

"Yes, Dad," Joe said with a grin. His face changed suddenly, his brow creasing with concern. "Is Chase coming?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Tuck said, ruffling his son's hair. "Go on with Coach, now."

His son headed off, and Tuck walked outside to wait for Chase, pulling a toothpick out of his pocket to chew on. He'd texted her a bit ago to see how she was coming along and she'd said she was already in Santa Monica. He hated to admit it, but he was looking forward to seeing her and was even a little nervous.

A white Nissan with tinted windows pulled into the packed parking lot. He watched as it pulled into a spot. After a moment, the driver's side door opened and he grinned to himself as he saw a pair of crutches emerge. He walked over to the vehicle.

"Good morning," he greeted her, holding out a hand to help her out. Instead, she placed a cardboard drink tray in his hand and he looked down in surprise at the two clear plastic tumblers holding iced lattes.

"Ah, thank you," he said, stepping back to give her room. As she rose from the car, she smiled at him, hopping a little bit to place the crutches under her arms.

"Good morning," she replied, a little breathlessly. "And you're welcome."

They caught and locked gazes, and Tuck realized he'd never seen her in casual clothing. Her hair blew gently in the breeze and he picked up on a lightly spicy, floral fragrance that wafted from her.

"Shall we?" he asked and together they walked toward the building. He slowed his steps slightly so she could keep up. "How's the knee?"

"Much better," she said. "I'm getting really ready to ditch these stupid things, though."

"And your other wounds?" he said.

"Healing well," she answered. "Mrs. B has been very diligent about keeping them clean and has been giving me a variety of balms and salves to apply that supposedly heal it up faster."

"Very good," Tuck replied, catching her eyes and smiling. "You certainly look well." The cuts to her face were almost healed and she had applied makeup over them expertly to mask their appearance.

She glanced up at him and her smile turned slightly shy. "Thanks. How's Joe?"

"Nervous, but ready," he said. "He's been working hard and I think he's got a good chance to make it to the finals for his age group."

There was a section at the front for families, and Tuck led her directly to the front row. He waited until she had seated and arranged herself before handing her one of the cups.

Chase had told him she'd never been to anything like this before, so he watched her during the tournament to see if she was really enjoying herself. She certainly seemed to, seemingly forgetting her knee as she tried to jump to her feet to cheer several times during the match.

Joe was kicking all the ass Tuck expected him to; he swiftly progressed to the semi-finals and then the final round. The boy he was matched with had at least three inches on his son and twenty pounds.

"That is a seven-year-old?" Chase demanded.

Tuck chuckled. "Yes, evidently."

It was touch-and-go for a moment, but eventually Joe got the best of his opponent. He rushed to the sideline to his father, who scooped him up in his arms.

"That's my boy!" Tuck exclaimed.

"Dad," Joe said, wriggling slightly until his father finally set him down.

"Sorry, I forgot you're at an age where you care about being cool," Tuck said with a laugh, ruffling his hair.

"Chase!" Joe shouted, catching sight of her.

"Hey, man!" Chase exclaimed, bending down slightly and holding out her hand. Joe slapped her a hard five. "You kicked some serious ass -" She caught herself. "Butt, she corrected. "Great job, kid!"

"Thanks," he smiled. He looked at his father. "Are we doing something fun today?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "We're going to go down to the pier where you're going to play all day."

Joe glanced at Chase. "You coming?"

Chase lifted an eyebrow at him. "Am I invited?"

Joe regarded her doubtfully, taking her crutches in. "I don't know. Can you keep up?"

"Look, kid," Chase said. "Don't worry about me keeping up with you, ok? Worry about you keeping up with me." She stuck out her tongue and he laughed.

"All right, I guess you can come with us," Joe allowed.

"Oh, thank you so much," she said sarcastically, but smiled.

They moved outside into the warm spring air, and Tuck gestured to his truck.

"You're welcome to ride with us. Parking can be a bit tricky down at the pier on a Sunday afternoon."

"Yeah, ok," she huffed. "Hold these, please?" She handed Tuck her crutches and shook her jacket off her shoulders. He swallowed, taking in the curve of her shoulders and the way the sun glinted off her bronzed skin. His eyes traveled lower and landed on the rounded curve of her well-developed glutes under her navy shorts, before climbing down to her shapely thighs, thick with muscle at her quadriceps and hamstrings. How had he not paid attention to this before?

He snapped to attention when she turned back to face him, handing him her jacket with an apologetic smile before taking her crutches back.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm such a pain. Now you get why I'm kicking these things to the curb in a few days."

"It's no problem," he replied. He helped Joe into the truck and then turned to help Chase in. He placed his hands on her waist as her hands came to his shoulders. She bent her good knee, preparing to hop, glancing up into his face.

For a moment he just stood there, and his hands unconsciously tightened on her. "I won't pull your stitches, will I?" he asked her softly.

She blushed and cleared her throat, and he felt her hands tighten on his shoulders.

"No, just be careful," she said lightly. He didn't break eye contact as he lifted her carefully into the truck. She was still blushing when he shut the door and came back around to his side, and it made him smile. He couldn't help taking a little pleasure in making the self-assured, self-confident agent just a bit flustered.

:O:O:O:

Tuck could not recall a day prior that he had had so much fun. They rode every ride and played every game on the pier, winning Joe so many prizes that the little boy started giving them away to other empty-handed children. It turned into a mini-competition between him and Chase, each of them trying to one-up the other.

They came to a basket-shooting game, and Tuck sank eight of ten shots, winning a long stream of tickets for Joe to exchange for a prize later. Chase stood back, watching him critically. When he was done, he high-fived Joe and looked at Chase pointedly.

"Don't look at me like that," she shot back. She shoved her crutches at Tuck. "Squirt, ball," she said to Joe. He hurriedly gave her a basketball and Chase hobbled up to the game. Her right knee was the one that was hurt; being right-handed, she would need to push off from her hurt knee in order to make a jumpshot. She heard a snicker from behind her and whirled around to glare at Tuck, who quickly bit back a smile.

"You're right-handed," he said, echoing her brief, internal self-assessment. "You might want to skip this one."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" she replied. She carefully shifted her body to the left, moving her weight totally to her left leg and hefted the basketball in her left hand, supporting it with her right. She jumped up quickly, releasing the ball, and it bounced off the rim. She growled to herself and heard Tuck snicker again. She grabbed another ball and lined up her shot carefully, then jumped up and let it go. It sank neatly through the net.

She glanced at Tuck again and winked at his sour expression before turning back. She sank eight more shots neatly and tore off the ticket strip - longer than Tuck's - and handed them to Joe with a triumphant smile.

"She beat you, Dad," Joe pointed out, adding insult to injury.

Chase nodded, gesturing toward Joe. "What he said." She reached out for her crutches, smirking playfully at Tuck. He grudgingly returned it and handed the crutches over.

"Whose side are you on, anyway, Joe?" he demanded, grabbing his son by his head and hauling him into his side, rubbing his knuckles into the top of his head.

"Well, hers for now, 'cause she's winning," the boy answered seriously. The adults laughed.

"You raised a very smart kid," Chase said. "Very smart. He's gonna go far in life."

As the sun started to move lower in the sky, they stopped off to get ice cream cones and ate them by the pier.

When they were through, their last stop of the evening was at the vendor booth so Joe could cash in his tickets for even more prizes. The vendor informed him he could have his choice between a stuffed tiger or a stuffed snow leopard. He motioned to Chase, who handed off her crutches to Tuck and took a small, hobbling step up next to the boy.

"Which one would you choose?" he asked, glancing up at her.

"Hmm," Chase said, tapping her chin with a finger. "That's a hard decision. They're both strong, fierce and beautiful. I love tigers. They're so majestic. But there's something so intriguing and almost mystical about snow leopards. I think I'd pick that one."

Both Joe and the vendor, and also Tuck behind them, chewing on a toothpick, were absolutely rapt at her words. Joe nodded to the vendor and the vendor handed Joe the snow leopard.

"Here," Joe said almost shyly, holding the toy out to Chase.

"For me?" she asked, genuinely surprised. She smiled at the small boy. "Joe, no way. You earned this, man, from the tournament and the games today, helping me beat the brakes off your old man -"

"You did all the work," the boy said earnestly. "So I want you to have it."

Chase seemed genuinely touched as she reached out and took the proffered toy. "Thanks, Squirt," she said quietly, and leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. As the boy blushed, she straightened and ruffled his hair with a grin.

"Listen," she began, "you're the only one I trust with Gus -"

"Who's Gus?" Joe asked with a confused frown.

"Him," Chase said, hefting the stuffed animal. "Anyway, you're the only one I trust with him, so do you think you can hold onto him for me while we go back to the truck? I need both arms to, you know -" She gestured to her crutches.

"Oh, sure," Joe said. He took the toy back and Chase turned around for her crutches. She caught Tuck looking at her with an intense expression and a slight smile on his face.

"What?" she asked.

Tuck's lip curled upward around the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. He shook his head. "Nothing." He tapped her crutches on the wooden pier floor and made a mock bow. "Your crutches, milady."

The sun had just sunk below the horizon, but Joe fell asleep on the way back to Chase's car. She glanced back at the sleeping boy over the back of the seat.

"Kid's beat," Chase murmured when they arrived back in the parking lot of the tournament center. "He's had a big day."

"Indeed he has," Tuck said. "As soon as I drop him off at Katie's, back to sleep he'll go." He reached over the backseat to get Chase's snow leopard.

"Oh, no, don't," she said quickly, holding up her hand. "He'll wake up."

"He'll never forgive you if you don't take it," Tuck cautioned as he gently extracted the toy from Joe's grasp. The boy stirred slightly but didn't wake.

Tuck helped Chase back to her car. She loaded in her crutches and her prize, and turned to face Tuck, leaning on the opened car door. She smiled.

"Thanks, Tuck," she said, "for inviting me."

"I didn't," Tuck quickly informed her. He smiled. "Joe's idea."

"Oh," Chase said, rolling her eyes with a grin. "Well, be sure to thank Joe for me, then." Her face softened. "I had more fun today than I think anyone should ever be allowed to have." Tuck chuckled. "Especially given our line of work."

"Well, even we need to be on personal missions of relaxation and enjoyment," Tuck replied.

"Mission accomplished," she said softly. There was a short pause, so she added lightly, "Well. I'll see you tomorrow, then. In the office."

"In the office," he echoed.

She sought his bright blue eyes, focusing on them as his focused on hers. His fingers came up to rest lightly on her hand on the car door frame. She glanced at them, then back up into his face. She was vaguely aware that the distance between them was slowly growing shorter. Her other hand reached up to lightly grasp the material of his shirt at his waist. His head tilted slightly, and she found herself lifting and tilting her own in anticipation of meeting his.

Her acutely sharp vision picked up movement just beyond his shoulder, and it was Joe, his face pressed to the window of the truck.

Chase couldn't stop a smile, an amused, bemused, rueful smile, from tugging at her lips even as she breathed, "Tuck," her lips just the barest trace of a whisper from his. She tugged his shirt gently.

"Hmm?" He pulled back slightly, his eyes intently searching hers, his breathing slightly hitched, just as hers was.

She smiled again. "Joe's watching," she whispered, lifting her brows ever so slightly, looking up at him meaningfully.

He sighed out a short laugh, stepping back and dropping his head. His hands came to his hips as he glanced back at the truck. Joe, having been seen, scrambled out of sight. Tuck turned back to her, his smile matching hers now.

"Good night," she said softly. She climbed carefully into her car and he gently shut the door.

"Good night," he replied, and his voice held all of the disappointed, sweet wistfulness she felt.


	10. Chapter 10

**AUuhor's Note - Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! Please keep them coming and please enjoy chapter 10. :-)**

**Chapter 10**

Chase arrived at work early the next morning, in a fantastic mood.

Her day with Tuck and Joe had been indescribably nice. Wonderful, even. She felt giddy and shy about the prospect of seeing him this morning. She had to laugh at herself – she was almost thirty, for crying out loud, and was simpering and carrying on like a teenager with her first school crush.

But she didn't care. Tuck made her feel special, had stirred feelings inside her that had been long since dead; dead before her engagement had been over. And he was _so _goddamn good-looking. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to stare at him like a drooling idiot; he was truly one of the most beautiful specimens of "male" she had ever laid eyes on.

Collins had cleared her badge access so she was able to enter and exit the field office of her own accord. Being that she was something of a workaholic, she tended to show up earlier than most in the mornings and leave later at night. It was much more convenient for her to not have to rely on an escort all the time.

She came to the office area where Tuck's and FDR's desks were. Collins had sent her an email last night letting her know that a desk had been set up for her in that area. Chase found her desk to the left of and behind FDR's. She leaned her crutches against the edge of her desk and set her leather satchel and purse down, noting with satisfaction that everything had been set up – her triple-screen monitor, her tower, and her laptop docking station.

She pulled her laptop from her satchel and opened it, powering it on. She logged into her computer and began to scroll through her email. She saw that she had one from IT with the subject "Whistler Hard Drive". She hastened to open that email and scanned through it quickly, her good mood dissipating and her frown deepening with every word.

She didn't bother with typing out a reply. Instead, she scooped up her phone and pressed the keys for the extension she needed. A hesitant voice answered.

"Agent Bothwick," he said uncertainly.

"Bothwick," she barked.

"Yes, Agent Moreno," he said nervously.

"I just got your email. I have to say…I'm unhappy."

"I apologize, ma'am."

"Don't apologize. Fix it."

"Uh, I would love to, ma'am," Bothwick replied. "But –"

"I was told you and Dickerman were the IT specialists."

"We are…sort of."

"Bothwick," Chase said, "I wasn't blessed with a great deal of patience."

"Ma'am, we're not hackers."

"But hacking is what needs to be done on that hard drive," Chase said, her tone clipped.

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a long pause and Chase sighed, running her hand through her wavy hair. Finally, she said, "Look, I have a little hacking knowledge. I'll come to you and we'll figure this thing out. I need this. Like, yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chase hung up and got to her feet, grabbing her crutches and slinging her satchel over her shoulder. She hobbled off toward the IT office where she knew she would inevitably be holed up for most of the day. She reached the office, finding only Bothwick seated inside the large room. One wall was lined with various screens and monitors. Only a few were on. She grabbed a seat and lowered herself into it, leaning toward the visibly nervous agent.

"Bothwick," she said. "Let's do this."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, scooting over so she could move next to him to study the screen. "How did you bypass the first security prompt, when you were in the field?"

"I gave his computer a virus," she replied, tapping out some keys on the screen. "But it seems like we'll need something more intense to crack these." She tried a code against one of the encrypted files. The computer system all but thumbed its nose at her attempt. She dropped her hands from the keys, annoyed.

"We could try a combination of viruses," Bothwick offered, tapping a finger on his chin. "We could use yours and then add on something else."

"You can do that?" Chase asked doubtfully.

"I don't really know for sure. But it's worth a try."

She reached out and patted his shoulder. "Bothwick, better put the coffee on. I have a feeling we're going to be here for a while."

:O:O:O:

"Agents…"

Dickerman's voice trailed off in disbelief as he took in the row of blank, black-screened computers. He pressed a series of buttons one each keyboard to no avail. He unplugged and plugged in the towers. He tried powering down the power strip they were all connected to and then powering it back on. They remained dark.

He turned accusatory eyes on Chase and Bothwick, both of whom looked like naughty schoolchildren. His mouth opened and shut as he struggled for words.

"You – you – you broke all of the computers!"

"Hey," Chase said, holding up a hand. "We didn't _break_ them. They're just…inoperable for the moment."

He gaped at her.

"I called someone!" she insisted.

"What did you do?"

"We were playing around with viruses," she admitted, not meeting his eyes, "and things got a little out of hand."

"_Playing_ with vi – out of _hand_ –" Dickerman sputtered and swept his arm over the expanse of computers. "All of them down! Why would you _play_ with a computer _virus_?"

"It was for the Whistler case," Bothwick piped up. He reached over to his computer and ejected the tiny chip from Whistler's hard drive. "This is what Agent Moreno brought back from the mansion last week. Every file on here is encrypted and we were trying to break the walls down when, uh, we broke everything."

Dickerman plucked the chip from his fingers and sighed, shaking his head. "We're probably going to have to send this to headquarters," he said.

Chase groaned and rolled her eyes. She didn't have _time _for them to send it anywhere. "Can I just have it?" she asked, holding out her hand. "Let me work on it some more and then I'll bring it back if I can't figure it out."

Dickerman frowned at her, still holding the chip. "Bothwick and I are the on-site tech experts," he pointed out. "If we couldn't crack it, what makes you think you can?"

She glowered at him. "I just want to give it another try," she said through gritted teeth. "Give me the chip, Agent."

"Ma'am, I can't take the risk that you'll shut the entire office's computer system down," Dickerman replied.

"Dickerman," she said impatiently.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

She sighed, annoyed out of her mind. "Fine. Then give me the chip and I'll see it gets off to HQ."

Dickerman squinted at her. "Don't you trust me to send it off?"

"It's not that. This is my case and I'd like to be hands on with every detail. The _chip_, please."

"Ma'am, I'm capable of putting this into an envelope and sending it to Virginia."

Chase closed the gap between them with one hobbling step. She stood nose-to-nose with the agent. "Agent Dickerman," she hissed. She was satisfied when he blinked and gulped.

"Y-yes, ma'am?"

"As I told Agent Bothwick this morning, I don't have much patience. I have less when a subordinate willfully tries to hold up the proceedings of a case on which I am the lead agent." Her smoky blue-gray eyes bore into his dark brown ones. "_I _will be in charge of sending off the chip. So you have five seconds to place it in my hand."

Her fingers immediately closed around the chip. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said sarcastically. She turned to place the chip in her satchel.

"The guys were right," she heard Dickerman mutter to Bothwick. Both snickered. Chase straightened and whirled around.

"I'm sorry?"

"What? Oh, nothing ma'am."

"Don't bullshit me, Dickerman," she said, folding her arms. "Agents Foster and Hansen were right about _what_, precisely?"

Dickerman and Bothwick exchanged a look. Finally, Bothwick answered. "Uh, the agents in question indicated that you might have a slight issue with an oftentimes insane desire to be in control. Of everything," he added. "At all times. Always."

Chase gaped at them. "Are you calling me a control freak?"

Dickerman shook his head. "No, ma'am. _They _called you a control freak. We are just agreeing with them."

"_You _just agreed with them," Bothwick hastened to point out. He looked at Chase and pointed to fingers at his eyeballs then pointed them at her. "Me and you, we're right here."

"Shut up, both of you," she replied. She grabbed her bag and crutches and hobbled back to her desk. She glanced at her watch, shocked to see that it was already lunchtime. She'd spent five hours with Bothwick trying to crack the code on the chip to no avail.

She noticed that Tuck and FDR were not at their desks, although their jackets and other personal belongings were there. She wondered where they both were; unless they'd decided to eat lunch at the on-site cafeteria, they didn't appear to be out.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since six that morning, so she hobbled to the cafeteria. She could almost put weight down on her right leg. Her knee was feeling much, much better; she planned to baby it this last day and then put the crutches away starting tomorrow.

She moodily ate a quick salad in the cafeteria, glaring down at the little chip she clutched in her hand. She wasn't ready to call it quits on the chip, but she knew she couldn't risk bringing down every other computer system in the building if she gave it a go on her own. She didn't have the software on her personal laptop to give it a try, and she knew she'd never get approval to have the necessary software installed. She supposed she'd have no choice to send it in to Langley.

Her thoughts turned to Whistler. She wondered when the interrogation was going to be conducted. Whistler was the key to finding out what was on the chip. They needed to be setting up potential stings, covering his contacts across the board for Boris's whereabouts.

Thinking of Boris brought to mind the mysterious Russian who had ID'd her yesterday. She was unsettled. She _knew_ he'd been at the club that night, but how he had made her, she had no idea. She had a feeling that dirty little art dealer would know.

As she was throwing away her trash, she ran into Collins entering the cafeteria.

"Agent," Collins said. "I heard you had some troubles cracking that chip." She lifted a meaningful eyebrow at Chase.

Chase swallowed. "Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry about that. We should have someone on site soon to fix the system. In the meantime I think I'll be sending this off to Langley. Unless I could get approval to get the software installed on my _personal _laptop…if so, I could try it again." Her tone was slightly wheedling as she offered Collins a smile.

"I'm afraid not," Collins replied wryly. "The government frowns on that sort of thing. Langley it is."

Chase sighed. "I figured as much." She shifted her weight on the crutches. "Have you seen FDR or Tuck? I want to get this Whistler interrogation underway."

Collins looked at her strangely. "It's underway right now," she said. "I spoke with them this morning. They said you were busy working on the chip and that you shouldn't be disturbed with the interrogation."

The first warm embers of rage uncoiled inside her. She managed to keep her face calm. "They said that? FDR and Tuck?"

"Yes," Collins replied, still looking slightly confused.

Chase clenched her jaw. "How long have they been interrogating him?"

Collins glanced down at her wrist. "A couple of hours now."

_Bastards! _Chase thought furiously. She managed a smile for Collins. "Thanks, ma'am. Since I'm free now, I think I'll go pop in."

She moved on her crutches as fast as she could, fury boiling in her stomach. She was hardly aware she was mumbling obscenities darkly under her breath as she went. _Those rat bastards! _she thought. _Especially Tuck – he knew how much I wanted to be present for the interrogation. Assholes!_

If she could have, she would have loved to take their skulls and slam them together as hard as possible. As it was, she was about to rain on their little secret parade.

Agents Boyles and Downing were posted outside the interrogation room, and both paled visibly when they saw her. The expression on her face, a deep scowl furrowing her brow, indicated she was in no mood for games.

"Agent Moreno," Downing said with false enthusiasm. "What –"

"Do not fuck with me, Downing," Chase hissed as she hobbled rapidly toward them. She glared at the door. "Open that, then the two of you go to lunch."

"Ma'am –" Boyles said nervously.

"I said, open the door, Agent Boyles."

He considered it briefly, then decided between Agents Foster and Hansen, and Agent Chase Moreno, he would rather not deal with the wrath of the New York agent. Her smoky eyes were dark with rage and fairly snapping.

He opened the door for her and stepped back.

"Go to lunch, and that's an order," she said. The two agents scampered off as quickly as possible without breaking into a full run.

She peeked around the door. Tuck and FDR were both leaning into Whistler's face, so that the man's face was obscured from her vision. Tuck had his blue button-down shirt rolled up to his elbosw and FDR's was opened down to his chest. They both looked sweaty and Chase assumed Whistler was probably getting the worst of it.

She used her body weight, centered in her rear, to shut the door with a loud slamming noise. Three faces whirled in her direction and she was immensely pleased at the look of shock on both Tuck's and FDR's faces.

"Sorry I'm late," she replied evenly, hobbling forward toward one of the long conference tables in the room. "Guess I didn't get the memo." Her eyes bored directly into Tuck, who at least had the decency to look abashed. FDR shot Tuck a furtive glance and mouthed, w_hat the fuck?_

"Uh, Chase," Tuck began. "What – what are you doing here? We thought you were busy with the chip."

She smirked, setting down her crutches and shrugging out of her suit jacket. "Yeah, I'll just bet you did." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "How kind of you to let me know what the plans for this afternoon were."

She pulled her white button-down blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and began unbuttoning it, her back to the three men still.

"Fuck is going on?" Whistler demanded.

"Chase," FDR started, "we just thought you wouldn't want to be disturbed. We didn't think –"

"No, you never do, do you, Foster?" she retorted. She pulled her blouse off her shoulders, not wanting to risk getting it potentially dirty, revealing the top half of the white lace teddy she wore under her clothing. She noted the looks of amazement on their faces with satisfaction, Tuck's eyes going wide as they went over her.

She picked up her crutches and hobbled toward Whistler, in his chair, his eyes boring into her. "Hi, Mr. Whistler," she said as she reached him. "How are you doing?"

"I've got a hard on the size of the Statue of Liberty from lookin' at ya, that's how I'm doing," he replied. He strained against his cuffs. "If only these hands weren't behind my back…mmm. We'd finish what we started at my house, sweetcheeks."

"You mean the part where I shoved your face in the floor and almost ripped your arms out of their sockets?" Chase replied.

He only smirked in response.

"Chase –" Tuck began.

"Shut up," she said without looking at him. She couldn't _wait _to lay into his ass, and FDR's, but for now, that needed to take a backseat. As it was, she was so irate she couldn't even look at him. She took a deep breath and smiled at Whistler.

"So, I'm sure you boys have had fun for the past couple hours, but now that I'm here, _finally_, this is how it's going to go. The rules are simple. I ask you a question, and you answer it truthfully. Ok? Then you can go back to living your new life of three hots and a cot." She lifted her eyebrows at him. "Sound good?"

"Suck my dick," he replied, managing to thrust his hips in the air.

"I suppose we don't have to count that as a question," she replied wryly. She leaned forward, resting her weight on the crutches. "Tell me, Mr. Whistler. Where and how did you acquire all of that magnificent art in your secret gallery? Those were originals on the wall."

"_Art_?" she heard FDR hiss. "Seriously?"

Rage boiled up in her again, but she kept her focus on Whistler. He sneered at her.

"I got it from your mom," he replied. Chase sighed.

"Let's try that again," she said lightly. "From where, and by what methods, did you acquire the scores of original paintings in your art gallery?"

"Suck and fuck me right here, right now, and maybe I'll tell ya," he returned.

"Mr. Whistler. Where did you get the art?"

"Let me see you on your knees in front of me with a mouthful of my cock, and then I'll tell you where," he whispered, wiggling his tongue at her.

He was still making the lurid gesture when the tip of Chase's right crutch came flying rapidly toward his face, so fast no one saw it coming, and bashed into left cheek. The impact made a horrifying noise and both Tuck and FDR jumped. Whistler's head snapped over and he immediately spit out several bloody teeth. He gasped for air, his mouth wide open, his eye watering, and stared up at Chase in disbelief. She stared back down at him coldly.

"Shall we try this again?" she asked softly. "I don't need to repeat my question, now, do I?"

Whistler seemed to be all out of snappy comebacks, but he remained silent, panting, blood still dripping from his mouth. He glared up at her.

As quickly as it happened the first time, her left crutch left the floor, making a smooth arc as she slammed it hard into the right side of his face. His head went whipping the opposite direction and he spat more teeth.

"Christ, Chase!" FDR shouted as he jumped back. Blood sprayed from Whistler's mouth and some of it spattered onto FDR's shirt.

"I can do this all day," she said softly to the art dealer and blood gushed from his mouth. "So why don't you make this easy on yourself and your face and tell me what I want to know." She paused, feigning concern. "You _are _clear on the question, yes?"

"The Kozlovs," the art dealer rasped out, spitting blood. "They gave me the art over a three-month period."

"And where did they get it?"

"Never said," Whistler choked out. "I never asked. They just shipped me the art and said to keep it in a safe place. Told me to use it for buying coke, or that if the coke dealers wouldn't take the painting, to contact Boris and he'd arrange for a fence for money."

"How much of the art have you sold or fenced so far?"

"Not sure," he slurred, spitting more blood. Some of it came dangerously close to the toes of her designer black suede pumps. She almost hit him again for that.

"Give me your best estimate," she said tightly.

"Maybe a dozen? Dozen and a half?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. Twelve, possibly eighteen, original American paintings shipped off to God knew where. "To whom did you exchange or fence the paintings?"

He spat blood directly at her this time, and it splattered onto her white lace teddy, her skirt, and her shoes. She looked down at them, her rage building and breaking.

Deftly, she spun the crutch in her right hand on her fingers like it was a giant pistol, until the padded arm rest was facing out, and slammed it forcefully against Whistler's throat and thrust him back ten feet into the wall. She held him there, pressing against his throat as he choked, his eyes rolling back into his head.

He was a satisfying shade of red when Chase released the crutch. Whistler's head fell forward as he gasped for air.

"You're nothing if not stubborn and feisty," she informed him. "I'll certainly give you that." She reached out and snagged a sweater that was lying on the table and used it to wipe off the arm rest.

"Hey!" FDR shouted, and she smirked.

"Oh, was that yours?" she asked, tossing the sweater at his face. "My apologies." She turned her attention back to Whistler, and used the tip of her crutch to force his head up. "Stay awake," she commanded, tapping his chin upward hard. "Answer my question. I need names."

"You knocked all his teeth out," Tuck said crossly. "And bashed his head in. I'd be surprised if he can even remember his _own _name."

Finally Chase did spare him a glance, and it was so coldly angry that Tuck swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

She turned back to the barely conscious man. "I suppose that's enough for today," she said. "Thanks for letting me know about the art. Next time we chat," she leaned in close, "try to do yourself a favor and be a little more forthcoming."

Whistler's head lolled on his neck, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as he made a low moaning sound of pain in his throat.

Chase turned and hobbled toward the table she'd left her things on and proceeded to slip her blouse back on. FDR passed her, shooting her a dirty look, as he opened the door and asked Boyles and Downing, back from their lunch, to remove Whistler back to his cell.

Chase sensed someone behind her and turned carefully, finishing buttoning up her blouse. She met Tuck's gaze steadily, lifting one eyebrow as she tucked her blouse into her skirt.

"Something you want to say, Agent?" she asked.

"What was that?" he replied, gesturing over his shoulder. Chase followed the movement and saw the spatters of blood on the wall and floor.

She shifted her eyes back to him. "I call that an interrogation. A successful one." She slipped on her jacket and folded her arms, her pulse accelerating as she prepared to unleash her full rage on him.

"Successful?" he repeated.

"Yes. We got more information out of him in my twenty minutes than you and Tuck have for two hours." She cocked her eyebrow again at his surprised expression. "Oh, you didn't know. Yes, I found out about your little surprise party for Whistler and apparently, my invitation got lost in the mail." She took a menacing step closer to him. "How dare you, Tuck. You went over my head on this."

"You know," FDR chimed in, joining them, "Tuck and I have done a few interrogations in the past. I think we could handle it."

"Oh?" Chase asked, whirling on him. "Tell me, which names did he give you? Which contacts? Did you even know about the art? Or how he basically just confirmed that the Kozlovs are funding his entire existence and this drug ring might be even bigger than we anticipated?"

FDR opened his mouth, then shut it, looking away.

"Exactly. Didn't think so. I'm lead investigator on this case for a _reason,_ boys, so get your heads out of your asses and do better next time."

"_Lead_?" FDR echoed, folding his arms.

"_Lead_, pretty boy, and if you don't like it, then I suggest you take it up with your boss, being that she was the one who requested me in the first place." She turned back to Tuck, wishing FDR wasn't standing there, but barreling forward anyway. "I am so disappointed in you," she said. "For a minute there, I thought –" She broke off, shaking her head. "I don't know what I thought, but obviously it was wrong. Was yesterday supposed to serve as a distraction or something? Were you just trying to throw me off my game? Because if so, that was really low to use your son for that purpose."

"No!" Tuck exclaimed. He shook his head in amazement. "I would _never _'use' my son for anything. And no, I was not trying to deceive you or throw you off anything!"

"Did you tell Bothwick to email me about the chip to try and keep me busy so you could go behind my back?" she demanded.

"No, that was legit," FDR responded. "It just happened to be perfect timing."

"Tell me why you didn't want me around for this," Chase said, staring at FDR.

"Because we didn't think you were in any condition for this," he shrugged, gesturing to her face and the crutches. "I guess we were wrong."

She glared at him. "You think a few cuts to the face and a temporarily bum knee are enough to scare me or deter me? You don't know shit, Foster."

She glared back and forth between the two of them. "If you ever try to undermine me again regarding this or any case I happen to be working on, it's both your asses. So help me. As it is I should probably discuss this with Collins in greater detail, but I'll let sleeping assholes lie for now. Fuck with me again if you want to." She turned to leave.

"Chase," Tuck said from behind her. She felt his hand on her back and she whirled, throwing it off.

"Don't," she said angrily, glaring up into his face. "Just don't."

She turned her back on him and left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note - thanks to all for reading and reviewing! Please keep it up! I hope you don't think this chapter is too slow...things are about to pick up XD also for those of you who have seen the movie, I just had to involve the "we shared a kiss" line lol.**

**Chapter 11**

"So…wait a minute."

Lauren shook her head, her shiny blonde hair tumbling gently around her shoulders as she held her beer in one hand and pressed her fingers to her temple with the other.

She, FDR and Tuck were at their favorite pizza place that evening. Pizza and beer was their weekly post-work Monday night ritual. Tonight's topic was the two agents complaining about the female agent and her hair-trigger temper.

"Let me get this straight," Lauren went on. "Your boss reached out to the New York branch office because she'd heard of this Agent Moreno as being particularly instrumental in apprehending a number of terrorists on the Eastern Seaboard, as well as assisting heavily with global counter-terrorism efforts, including orchestrating a major sting operation to apprehend several people on the Most Wanted list." She lifted her eyebrows at her fiancé and Tuck for confirmation. They both nodded.

"So, she's brought in, and on her first day in LA, she organizes a mission for the Russian mob case, apprehends a major player, gets beaten up, stabbed and injured in the meantime."

The agents nodded simultaneously again.

"And then…you two idiots have the audacity to interfere in a case that clearly belongs to her, where you two are in supporting roles, and work against her to keep her out of the interrogation of the suspect she apprehended?"

"I carried him to the van," Tuck said defensively, swigging his beer.

Lauren's mouth fell open and she shook her head again. "You're lucky that all you got was a verbal ass-kicking."

"What?" FDR couldn't believe his ears. "You seriously are on her side?"

"Hell, yes!" Lauren said vehemently. "Look, you wouldn't understand, because you're men. But as a woman in a professional capacity, most of the industries are nothing but boys' clubs. As women, we have to work twice as hard to be taken as seriously. Do you honestly think you made the right decision?" She swung on Tuck. "And you, bringing her around Joe, spending a special day together, getting in her head. What's up with that?"

"Hey," Tuck said, pointing a finger at her. "Our date and spending time with Joe had nothing to do with the case! Those were two totally separate things."

"But look at the timeline," Lauren insisted. "They happened back to back. What the hell is she supposed to think?"

"It's not like it matters now," Tuck said. "She made it pretty clear she wants nothing to do with me. And frankly, this is a pretty clear indication of how mixing business and pleasure never works."

"What pleasure have you had?" FDR couldn't resist asking, snorting and ducking as Tuck threw a jab at his head.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you horny fuck," Tuck said.

"Sorry," FDR said. "I haven't had sex in a month because my fiancée thought it would be a good idea if we waited until the wedding night." He shot Lauren a pointed look and she swatted his arm. "This is as good as it gets for me for now."

"Well, you only have another week or so to wait. And it wasn't like that. I had my son with me, for Christ's sake." Tuck sighed, recalling their near-kiss. A warm flush went through him at the memory.

Lauren didn't miss it. "What happened, really?"

Tuck sighed. He half-shrugged and shook his head. "We…"

"What? You what?" FDR demanded.

"We almost shared…a kiss," Tuck finished, practically mumbling the last couple words. "But Joe was watching us, so we didn't. End up. Doing…that."

"Wait, so hold on." Lauren folded her arms and glanced at Chase's professional CIA profile picture pulled up on Tuck's laptop. She looked at Tuck and started ticking points off on her fingers. "She's smart. Smarter than you two put together, obviously. She's brave. She's tough. She's clearly gorgeous. She's strong, she's responsible, and she gets along with your son most importantly, and you're telling me that you just completely fucked this all up?"

Tuck paused, considering all of her points, before shrugging and nodding. "Yeah, that's about right." He took another swig of his beer.

Lauren sighed heavily and glared at him.

"What?" he demanded. "We barely know each other. It's not a big deal. We'll wrap the case and then go on with our lives."

"You don't really feel that way," Lauren said, "and you know how I know that? One, because I know you. Two, because I know that if you didn't feel something you would never have introduced her to Joe."

"I didn't really have a choice," he pointed out. "She needed a ride home and I had to get Joe that night. She would have met him anyway."

"Except that she didn't _need_ you for a ride as she pointed out she had other options, and also, Joe wanted her to come yesterday. I know how much you love your son and how particular you are about who he's around. You might not know everything about this girl but that doesn't change the fact that you feel something about her."

"She's right, man," FDR said earnestly, looking between his fiancée and his best friend.

"Oh, shut up," Tuck said scornfully, with a half-smile. He glanced at Lauren. "Well, as right as you might be, it still serves no purpose because the girl wants nothing to do with me."

"Did you apologize?" Lauren asked. "Either of you?"

"No," they said together, sounding confused.

Lauren sighed and rolled her eyes. "You guys know nothing. It's actually kind of scary."

"It's not that I wouldn't want to apologize," Tuck said quickly. "I just…"

"You just what?"

"Every time she looks at me, I swear she wants to take my bloody head off!" Tuck exclaimed. "It's quite disconcerting."

"Well, it should be, because she probably does," Lauren pointed out. She sighed. "Part of the reason she's so mad is that she probably likes you, too. So what you did not only undermined her professionally but also it was sort of a slap in the face personally. Just give her some time."

Tuck nodded, finishing off his beer. "So, tell me what's up with wedding," he said, desperate to change the subject and casting about for a topic, any topic.

Lauren brightened. "Everything is pretty much set. We're just going to have the 'rehearsal' dinner at Nana's on Sunday and then it's off to Vegas." She fixed FDR and Tuck with piercing stares. "You got the time off, right?"

They exchanged a glance. Since they were in the middle of a case, there wasn't really such a thing as "time off" per se; but Collins had granted them the ability to leave the state with the knowledge that they could be called into action at any given time.

"Sure," FDR answered smoothly, smiling. "No worries, baby. You just concentrate on being a beautiful bride."

"Ok," Lauren said with a giggle, she leaned in for a kiss.

Tuck rolled his eyes and turned his back, heading for the bar. He was extremely happy for his best friend and was looking forward to the wedding. He couldn't help feeling a bit wistful, though. He genuinely wanted that connection with another person but that sincere desire hadn't prevented him from being terribly unlucky.

He sighed, thinking of Chase. He knew he owed her an apology. He'd known from the beginning he owed her one, but thankfully Lauren's womanly insight allowed him into her mind, just a little bit. He had to wonder if Lauren had been right about Chase having some sort of feeling toward him as well, which caused her to be all the more upset.

He didn't think that she was the flowers type of girl, nor did he want to send an apology via text or email. It would have to be face to face. He just hoped she didn't try to shoot him in the process.

:O:O:O:

Chase lounged on the porch of the bed and breakfast that evening. She was moody, but she tried to keep it at bay when dealing with Mrs. Brown. After all, it wasn't the landlady's fault that Tuck Hansen was a huge asshole.

Nonetheless, the elderly woman seemed to sense her disquiet and after dinner, left Chase to herself on the front porch with her laptop.

She was making some notes about the case, incorporating her "chat" with Whistler from earlier. She frowned, trying to piece together the missing information. She knew she would need to talk with Whistler again, but she supposed she should give him some time for his mouth to heal. He knew where Boris was, she was sure of it. She also knew he knew where the real drug operation was being run out of. Now that they had Whistler, the FBI and LAPD had stormed Whistler's mansion. They found the coke, enough to indict him on drug trafficking and distribution charges. However, everyone involved knew Whistler was just a pawn; he was only a cog in the wheel. He definitely wasn't the brains, and so far, he wasn't giving up any names.

The Russian from Starbucks was also a key factor. In going over her extensive files on the Kozlov crime family, she was pretty sure he was Kozlov's capo, Vladimir Andrei. It had been hard to tell because of his sunglasses and scruffy beard, as he normally went clean-shaven, but the height and weight were right, and, strangely, the shape of the ears.

Unfortunately, Los Angeles was a huge city and searching for Vladimir would be like searching for a needle in a haystack – damn near impossible and most definitely frustrating.

She was trying to put feelers out, though, and she had started with Starbucks. The employees she spoke with had informed her that the man in question had been in twice and that he always paid in cash. She had contacted Collins with the lead and requested that she contact the LAPD and the FBI for a couple of undercover details to be put on the coffee shop until he showed himself again. She was in the process of working with the FBI to get a warrant for his arrest. But being that the CIA was not a law enforcement agency, she couldn't technically arrest anyone, she couldn't obtain an arrest warrant, and she couldn't personally order the cops or the FBI to place an undercover detail anywhere. She could only request that it be done, and hope they were willing to acquiesce her. And if they were, she knew by now not to expect anything to be done in anything resembling a timely manner.

As if reading her mind, her email notification went off and she opened it. It was from Collins, stating that the LAPD's resources were almost tapped out but that they would try to put a detail on the coffee shop. Chase replied, asking Collins to please urge them to offer any and all support they could as this was a federal case.

She slapped her laptop closed and pulled her glasses off, sweeping a hand over her face.

"I should have been a fucking cop," she muttered to herself. Apparently, it was the only way to really get things done. But there was something about piecing the puzzle together, gathering the clues, that spoke to the left-brained side of her. Moreover, she was fluent in four other languages besides English, and the CIA had pounced on her because of that. She enjoyed what she did immensely, for the most part. The conflict arose when she wanted to act, but couldn't. Not in the way she really wanted to.

It was how she got her rep for being a "wildcat" agent in New York. She always volunteered for field missions. Anything to get out there and away from the desk. Contrary to what both Tuck and FDR seemed to think, paper-pushing was as far from her personal job description as she could get. She was proficient in Muay Thai, boxing, and Kung-fu, as well as a wide variety of weaponry. She loved engaging in hand-to-hand combat, either for sparring purposes or the real thing. She'd taken her licks, learned from mistakes, and was still standing to tell the tale. She'd been stabbed and shot before and had broken more bones than she could count. All of it had served to make her stronger, faster and tougher.

And all of those things had been laughed at and trampled on today, intentionally or not. Rage flamed in her again as she thought of the events of the day. She honestly expected those sort of shenanigans from FDR. He was reckless, he was immature at times, and he was a smart ass to boot. But she hadn't expected it from Tuck.

_You don't even know him to have expectations,_ she chided herself irritably. What it was, she reasoned with herself, was that she was lonely. And Tuck was gorgeous. And he had the accent, the charm, and those goddamn lips. And it had called to everything female inside her, deep inside her.

Unbidden, she pictured his face, his lips, wondering what they would have felt like on hers had she not spotted Joe spying on them. Hell, if Joe hadn't been there at all.

Her fingertips flew to her lips, touching them lightly. She'd been so close. She wondered if he would have been soft and tender or hard and passionate, or a combination of everything. Tuck seemed like a pretty soft-spoken guy but she knew for a fact from reading his profile that he was a badass in the field. His gentle nature was one that was guided by an iron fist, with barely concealed wildfire just below his silky smooth exterior. Unconsciously she bit her lip, wondering what his tongue would have felt like sliding against her own, slipping between her lips. She wondered if he would have teased and coaxed her tongue into his mouth so he could suck on it gently.

_Time to snap out of it,_ she thought suddenly. However gorgeous and sexy Tuck might be, the fact remained he was still an asshole.

She rose abruptly, checking her watch. She might as well call it a night.

:O:O:O:

She arrived early to work the next morning as usual. She set her bags down and slipped her cream suit jacket off her shoulders. The office was normally over-air conditioned but it was particularly warm outside and she was sweating under the jacket. The cool air raised goosebumps on her bare arms but she enjoyed it, comfortable now in just her navy silk sleeveless top and knee length, form-fitting cream skirt. It was also the first day she left her crutches at home. She still wore her knee brace but she was able to walk mostly normally. She was also wearing a pair of four-inch cream heels with relish. She felt like herself again.

She pushed her glasses up her nose and commenced reading her notes and files, picking up where she'd left off the night before. She spent an hour and a half reading and was checking her email when FDR and Tuck - _Tweedledee and Tweedledum_ - walked in, chatting and joking with each other. They quieted down as they passed her but she didn't even spare them a glance. Much to her annoyance, they stayed at their desks also, chatting back and forth, doing bits of work here and there. She slipped a pair of earbuds into her ears to drown out their racket and continued to pore over her files.

She was making some more notes about Whistler's connection to the Kozlovs when she heard knuckles rapping on her desk. She glanced up and saw Tuck standing before her in a crisp baby blue button-down that brought out his eyes and a pair of charcoal gray, sharply pressed slacks. He offered a tentative smile.

She averted her eyes, not wanting to admit to herself how gorgeous he looked, and flicked her head upward by way of greeting, still studying the screen. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his fingers brush her jaw and her earbud was pulled out.

"Excuse you," she snapped, pulling it from his fingers. She glowered up at him. "Do you need something, or are you here to supervise since apparently you decide what work I do and don't do?"

He didn't even seem perturbed as his smile widened. "No, actually. I was hoping I could entice you to come grab a cup of coffee with me at the Grinder, just down the road a bit."

She scoffed, shaking her head and returned her gaze to her screen although she wasn't focusing on any of it. "I don't have time to get coffee."

She suddenly smelled his cologne as he leaned down toward her. She couldn't help it, and edged her eyes up toward him, peering at him over her frames.

"Look, I was supposed to say this outside, sitting at a small cafe table over a cup of LA's best coffee, but I truly feel like an asshole for what happened yesterday."

He looked sincere, Chase thought, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at him. Then again, he was paid to be a good liar. They all were.

"So, I'd really like it if you could come with me," he went on, his voice gentle. "I'd like to talk to you and try to make things right." His smile turned playful. "After all, we don't know how much longer we're going to be stuck with each other. We may as well find a way to get along."

Chase sighed, reaching up to pull off her frames. If she was being honest with herself, he'd had her at his initial invitation. His sincerity had only cemented it for her. Of course, there was no way in hell she'd ever let him know that. Plus, she hadn't stopped for coffee at all yet, a drastic no-no in her book.

"Yeah, all right," she muttered, getting to her feet. "Since you're buying."

"That I am," he replied. He watched as she leaned over to pull her jacket off her chair and her clutch out of her business satchel. He guided her through the lobby's double doors, stepping ahead to pull them open, his hand at the small of her back as he followed her.

"This better not be as far as that sushi place," she commented.

He glanced down. "Look at that," he said. "No more crutches. I take it you're feeling much better."

"Yes," Chase replied. "Apparently, aggressive therapy worked in my favor this time."

The Grinder was just one block down from the field office building, and it was immensely popular with the agency employees.

"Iced latte?" Tuck asked, reading her mind with a smirk.

"Don't act like you know me," she replied.

He grinned. "Why don't you select a place you'd like to sit, and i'll join you shortly?"

Chase chose a table outdoors covered with a large umbrella to provide some shade under the bright California sun. She removed her jacket again, thankful she'd pulled her hair up into a knot and sat, basking in the sunshine, feeling like a contented house cat sunning itself on a warm, soft window seat.

Tuck joined her a moment later, placing a sweating glass in front of her. He'd opted for the same beverage.

She took a sip of hers, and she had to admit it blew Starbucks out of the water. It was like an iced latte, and yet she'd never tasted anything quite like it.

"You like it?" Tuck asked, watching her.

"It's delicious," she replied.

"I took the liberty of ordering you a Hong Kong-style iced coffee," he said. "I hope you don't mind. But I figured if you enjoy iced lattes you'd love these."

"It's great," she said, taking another long sip.

"So, uh," Tuck began, "I need to lead off with a formal apology." He lifted his eyes to hers. "Chase, I'm sorry for acting like an asshole yesterday and keeping you out of the interrogation. You not only deserved to be there, it was your right to be there. You were absolutely correct in saying that this really is your case. Frank and I are in the backseat on this."

"No," Chase sighed. "You're not. You two are the best at what you do on the west coast. Everyone knows this, and that's why we're working together. This is as much my case as it is yours. I shouldn't have made it seem like you guys are minor players. I'm sorry for saying that. You're not." She paused for another sip of her coffee. "And apology accepted."

"Good," Tuck said with a smile.

"Just don't do that again," she cautioned.

He held up a hand. "I get it. Never cross a control freak." He started laughing at the look of rage on her face. "You're so easy to rile," he noted, amused. "It's fun."

"How nice of you," she said sarcastically.

"You going to try Whistler again today?" Tuck asked. "Speaking of you being a control freak."

Chase let it slide with a glare before replying. "No, not today. Tomorrow, maybe. In my experience, they tend to respond better when they've gotten a chance to heal a little bit. Then they appreciate the damage that was done and the time it takes to heal, and seem to be more forthcoming."

"Obviously not your first time," Tuck said sarcastically. After a moment, he added, "The thing with the crutches, that was beautiful, though."

Chase smiled under his praise. "Thank you. They served a real purpose after all."

"You mean, besides keeping you mobile," Tuck said wryly.

"Yes. Precisely."

Tuck laughed, and for the umpteenth time since they met, they locked and held gazes. He gave her a slow half-smile that secretly turned her insides to mush before slipping his aviator shades back on.

"Time to head back," he said lightly, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Normally, Chase would have scoffed at such gallantry, interpreting it for chauvinism, but when Tuck did it...it was nice. It called out to that wholly female part of her that wanted to be protected and to feel submissive to something more powerful than herself. She blushed as she took his large, warm hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"I'll walk you back to the office," he said, "then I've got to leave. I've got an off-site meeting the rest of the afternoon and then I'm picking up Joe after school and taking him to his mother's."

"You don't have to walk me back," she insisted. "You should just take off."

"It's no trouble," he replied lightly, and Chase let it drop. If he wanted to walk her back to the office, who was she to argue?

When they reached the glass doors, he smiled and touched her arm briefly. "Thanks for coming," he said. "Have a good rest of the day. Call me if you find anything."

"Will do," she replied automatically. "Enjoy your meeting and tell Joe I said hi."

"I will," he said, lifting a hand to bid her goodbye. He turned and crossed the street toward the parking garage, and Chase re-entered the building.

When she reached her desk, FDR glanced over at her. "Ah, so, you two were able to set aside your differences after all."

"For the time being," Chase replied. "You and I are a different story."

FDR sighed. "When he apologized it was supposed to be from me, too."

Chase frowned at him. "Yeah, didn't get that memo. You were not a part of that conversation."

"Bastard," FDR grumbled under his breath. "What can I do to make it up to you, huh?"

An idea slowly started to form. She cut her eyes at the man, smiling.

"I don't like that smile," he said, pointing at her and frowning. "It looks like you're meditating devilment."

"I have something in mind," Chase said with a smirk. "You're going to be my sparring partner."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Chase…come on. Don't be silly."

FDR stood in the fitness room of the office, on a padded gymnastics mat. This room was used for training purposes, and agents often came here to work out before and after work, to release a little tension. He stood next to a water-based punching bag and there were a pile of training pads at his feet.

Chase stood before him in a cropped black sports tank and black capri-length yoga pants. She was barefoot and was wrapping her hands. She looked like she meant business.

"Seriously. You have a bum knee –"

"Not worried about that," she interjected, flexing it slightly.

"I think you're letting your anger get the best of you," FDR went on. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black athletic pants, but he suddenly realized he didn't want to do this. Not with that crazy gleam in her eye. "Besides, my arm is still healing."

"I won't hit you in your arm or anywhere near it. I just need you to hold the pads and the bag. You can do that with one hand. And we'll talk." She rolled her head around on her neck and gave him a withering stare. "Stop being such a little bitch."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "What would you like to do first?"

"Pad," she answered.

He leaned down and picked up one of the training pads and fit it over his hand, holding it up. Chase glanced at his stance.

"Don't you want to stand a little sturdier than that?" she asked, shifting her body slightly into a fighter's stance.

FDR glanced down at himself then back at her. He smirked. She might be tough, sure, but she was five-feet and change, maybe 125 pounds soaking wet. He towered over her from his height of six-one and had fifty pounds on her, easily.

"I think I'm fine," he said gently, smiling.

Before he could move, blink, breathe, or think, her hand shot out, the back of her fist cuffing him on the cheek as it slid past the pad on his hand. His head snapped over and he stumbled back. He saw stars, his jaw stinging. Moreover, he was shocked. He flexed his jaw, turning to glare at her.

"What the fuck was that?" he exclaimed. "I wasn't even ready! You didn't even hit the pad!"

"Oops, sorry about that," she replied, sounding anything but. She smirked and hopped lightly from foot to foot, watching him. She sighed. "You ready now, princess?"

"You going to hit the pad this time?" he demanded. "The _pad_," he repeated, over-enunciating exaggeratedly.

"Sure, no worries," she said.

"Come on, then," FDR said. This time, he shifted his weight forward to his quads, holding his arm out firmly. She began her assault, and the force of her blows almost made him stagger backward. He refused to give her that pleasure though, and stood his ground, gritting his teeth. He could tell she'd had extensive training; her punches were lightning fast, sharp, hard. She was deadly accurate, too. His palm was starting to get sore even through the thick training pad from her repeated blows. She never accidentally hit the outer edge of the pad; every punch landed dead center. Finally, he'd had enough.

"Time out," he panted, surprised that he was breathless. He lowered his hand, wincing as he pulled the pad off. His hand was red. "Good Lord, woman," he complained, flexing his fingers. "Why do you have so much pent-up rage?"

She stretched her arms. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because a certain dickhead agent has been nothing but antagonistic to me since day one?"

"Look, I know you and Tuck got off on the wrong foot –" FDR began.

"I'm not talking about _Tuck_," Chase said evenly. "I'm talking about _you." _She took a step toward him and FDR instinctively took a coordinating step back. "If I had to bet on it, I think it was _your_ idea to keep me out of the interrogation room yesterday." She fixed him with an intense stare, her smoky blue-gray eyes piercing. "Wasn't it?"

FDR sighed. "Listen," he began. "I guess – at first, I was just really annoyed that they brought you in. Me and Tuck, webuilt the Kozlov case from day one. I just felt like, this is _our _investigation. Plus…" He trailed off, gesturing his arm, wrapped and in a sling. "I'm still struggling with this. I've never had an injury before that kept me out of the action for two months. _Two months!_ It's a little depressing. I like to be as involved as possible and I wasn't feeling that involved. And I thought…running the interrogation on my own would make me feel that way. Like I was contributing, like I had a _little _bit of control."

Chase softened slightly. She could understand that. "You _are_ involved," she said. "You're the one that guided me through that mansion. I would never have known where I was going had it not been for you. You helped lead Tuck to me when I was getting my ass kicked. Just because you're not physically able to be out there right now doesn't mean you're not contributing to this case. We all have a part to play."

FDR smiled ruefully. "I appreciate that, I do. But I'm used to my part being fighting and shooting and blowing shit up."

"All of my favorite things," Chase joked. "Listen, Foster. I get how you feel, and I know I can be bossy and –"

"Controlling," he offered.

"I was going to say passionate and overzealous but, ok," Chase said wryly. "But we have to find a way to make this group effort a little bit more synchronized. As Tuck said earlier, we're stuck together for a while. So we have to be able to rely on each other. All right?"

"Fine," FDR conceded with a nod. His eyes grew wide with feigned emotion and he fanned himself. "Does that mean we're bestest friends now?"

"Hardly," Chase said, and grabbed his good arm, twisting it behind his back as her other snaked around his neck, squeezing the front of his throat with her forearm. "Try not to underestimate me in the future, ok?"

He grunted and nodded, and Chase smiled sweetly. "Good." She released him and shoved him away. He coughed, rubbing his throat.

"Damn, you're violent," he rasped. "Try to not kill my best friend, please. I need him around to be in the wedding."

"Why would I do that?" Chase asked absently, unwrapping her hands.

"You know, when you guys are hanging out and stuff. You're kind of violent."

She looked up. "What do you mean, when we're 'hanging out'?" she said. "We're not like that."

"Ok," FDR said sarcastically.

"We're _not,"_ Chase said insistently. "We're just barely back on speaking terms now."

"So you're telling me you don't like him at all?"

"What are we, in high school?" Chase said, sounding pained. "I'm not having this conversation with you so you can take it back to him later."

"Come on, talk to me!" FDR said with a grin. "He's definitely into you."

"Shut up," she said, but interest flickered in her eyes.

"What, you couldn't tell? He introduced his son to you, for crying out loud."

Chase didn't say anything but shrugged. FDR sighed, feeling like he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. His cell phone rang at that moment and he pulled it out of his pocket.

"Hi, babe," he said enthusiastically. Chase glanced over at him. "No, I just got done getting my ass kicked. By Chase…you know, because she was mad at me…yeah, no, she choked me out a little bit." Chase snorted. "What do you mean I deserved it?" FDR went on, frowning. He paused, listening. "No, I will _not _high-five her for you." Chase laughed outright. He glared over at her. "Why?" he said into the phone, sounding suspicious. He sighed. "All right. Fine." He glanced at Chase and held out his phone. "My fiancée wants to talk to you," he said.

Curiously, Chase took the phone. "Hello," she said.

"Hi!" a bubbly voice gushed into her ear. "This is Lauren, FDR's fiancée."

"Hi there," Chase replied, smiling despite herself. "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine. Way to go on kicking his ass. He definitely needs it. He can be pretty mouthy. Listen, I just wanted to invite you to dinner and drinks with me and my friend Trish tomorrow evening. We do it once a week. FDR and Tuck and her husband Bob go hang out, so we have a little girls' night. I'm sure you're getting tired of spending time with the guys, so, please join us."

"Oh, sure," Chase said, feeling awkward but not wanting to say no. "That sounds great. Where?"

"It's a little Italian place called Carmela's. We always dress up a little for each other, too."

"Carmela's," Chase repeated. "And dress up. Uh, sure. Ok, that sounds nice. What time?"

"Seven," Lauren replied. "We'll see you there!"

"See you," Chase echoed. She handed the phone back to FDR who snatched it from her hand.

"Baby," he said. "Babe?" He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it, seeing that it had returned to the home screen, indicating Lauren had ended the call. He looked over at Chase. "She just called me to talk to you."

"Seems like it," Chase replied with a smirk. "I got invited to girls' night tomorrow."

"Awesome, you get to meet Trish," he said, lifting his eyebrows. "She's – wow. Just prepare yourself." His phone made a different noise, and he glanced down. "Hey, I've got to run to a meeting." He met her eyes, holding his hand out. "We good?"

Chase gripped his hand firmly, enjoying his slight wince. "We're good."

He disentangled his hand, shaking it slightly. Chase smiled. "All right. Enjoy your day."

:O:O:O:

The next day, Chase decided she would have another crack at Whistler. She informed FDR and Tuck that she wanted to speak to him alone to gauge their feedback, telling them she thought he'd open up more if it were only her present in the room.

"It's all right with me," Tuck said, folding his arms. He glanced at FDR.

"I guess," he said doubtfully.

"Have some faith," she said. She walked to the interrogation room, asking Agent Boyles to bring Whistler to her. She moved the table that would have been between them out of the way and waited, crossing her legs.

Finally, a shackled Whistler was brought into the room. She glanced up, seeing his lumpy bruised face and swollen mouth. He glared at her wordlessly as he sank into his chair. Chase couldn't help but smile.

"Can you talk ok?" she asked.

"Fuck you," he replied.

"Good start," Chase said. She leaned forward. "You can probably guess what I want to talk to you about today."

"Anything to do with sucking my cock?"

"Not this time," she replied. "I trust you've been treated acceptably?"

"Yeah," he said bitingly, "other than getting a few teeth knocked out of my face, it's been swell."

"You've been comfortable, eating well? Did you get your phone call?"

His eyes glinted. "Yeah. Sure did."

"And who did you call? Boris? Vlad Andrei?"

He met her eyes sharply at the latter name. _Aha. _Chase met his gaze steadily, knowing she'd just struck a nerve. If Whistler had called Andrei that could be her answer as to how Andrei had made her at Starbucks. She made a mental note to have the record of that phone call pulled and to have whatever number he'd dialed traced.

"I called your mother," he shot back.

"That's highly unlikely," Chase replied. "But ok. Sure." She got up from her chair, starting to place slowly back and forth behind it. Whistler watched her every move.

"No crutches today," he noted.

"Nope," Chase said. She glanced at him. "Don't get too comfortable though." She leaned her hands on the top of the chair back. "I've been thinking about our conversation on Monday, and I have to say, I'm not quite satisfied with it."

"You should let me satisfy you in a different way, then," Whistler replied, rolling his tongue out of his mouth and making an obscene gesture with it.

"No, thank you. But going back to our little chat…" She let a slightly mocking smile cross her face. "I think you and I both know you're not smart enough to run a drug operation out of your home. I already know you have backing from the Kozlov family, because you were kind enough to let me know that. But I know you're a pawn. You're just a minor player in this game. Boris is the head of state here. But he's not acting alone. Talk to me about Vlad Andrei."

"Don't know the guy," Whistler said.

Chase sighed. "Are we back to this, again?"

Whistler studied her. "I want immunity," he burst out suddenly, and from the way he said it, Chase could tell he'd been thinking about it for a while. "I want to be in the Witness Protection Program."

Chase tilted her head. "Why would I do that for you?" she asked. "You haven't told me anything I couldn't have figured out on my own. And besides that, one of the main criteria is that you have information that can lead to the prosecution of a major enemy of the United States. I haven't seen that."

"Oh, I got a lot of stuff you don't know," he said coolly. "But I ain't sayin' shit until I know I can get immunity."

Chase hadn't expected this, but it didn't totally catch her off guard. "I'll speak to some lawyers and we'll get you some representation," she said. "We'll talk about the program. But I need to know what you know before I can commit to any of that." He looked at her doubtfully. She dropped back into the chair. "Listen, I know it may not seem like it, but I'm not totally against you here. My focus is the Kozlovs. I've already told you, I know you're just a pawn. It wouldn't be a challenge for a defense attorney to build your case and get you a reduced sentence. As far as the Witness Protection Program, I know some feds who owe me some favors. I'm the CIA, I can't make you any deals. I just need to know what you know. And you have my word I will contact my people and make something happen for you."

Whistler stared back at her, his brow furrowing.

She leaned forward earnestly. "I gave you my word, man. Can you give me yours?"

"Get me a deal, and I'll tell you everything I know," he replied.

Chase sighed heavily. She should have known it would never have been that easy. She left the room, instructing Boyles to leave Whistler where he was, and she hopped on the phone with one of her California FBI contacts. She explained the situation and asked that her contact submit the request for protection to the US Department of Justice.

"Make sure they know this is time-sensitive," Chase sighed.

"Will do," her contact said.

Chase walked back to the interrogation room. She resumed her place in front of Whistler who looked at her expectantly. She leaned forward again.

"So, listen," she said. "This is how it works. As I told you, the CIA is not a law enforcement agency. Those are the only people that can submit a request for protection. But I contacted a friend in the FBI and she's submitting your request as we speak. In a couple days, she's going to coordinate an interview between you and the US Marshalls. They're going to get all the facts of this case. Once they determine you need to be in the program, the request moves up to the US Attorney General."

Whistler's eyes had glazed over. "Then what?"

"Then, they set you up with a new identity, new place to live, a job, all that good stuff."

"So you did it?" Whistler exclaimed. "You actually did it?"

"I got the ball rolling," Chase said. "Like I said, I know people who know people. That conversation I just had with my FBI friend should have taken much, _much_ longer than it did, but she owes me a favor. No questions asked. And trust me, I never would have cashed in the favor if I didn't see the need or didn't agree with it. I think you're right, I think you need to be protected and this is going to turn into a huge federal case."

Whistler couldn't keep a grin off his face.

"So, I did something for you," she said softly. "Now it's your turn."

He looked at her doubtfully.

"Hey, this is all going to unfold in a matter of days," Chase said, spreading her hands. "What I got you is as good as a deal. I've done everything I can do." Her face hardened. "You hold up your end of the bargain, or I'll call my friend back and have her cancel the request and you can rot in a maximum security prison until you die."

Whistler sighed. He was silent for several long moments, then said in a low voice, "Vladimir Andrei is the head of the Kozlov coke operation in Los Angeles."

Chase nodded. "Go on."

"He lives in the hills somewhere, some highly secure compound. You can't get to it."

"We can get anywhere," she said wryly.

"Not here, not without letting him know you're coming," Whistler replied. "You had to jump through a couple hoops to get into my house, but you got in. It's not gonna be that easy with him."

Chase frowned.

"But he owns this Russian deli in Venice," Whistler went on. "Called 'Taste of Russia'."

"Original," Chase said sarcastically.

"Food is good, draws a lot of tourists. A lot of clientele," he added meaningfully. Chase immediately knew he meant that coke operations were also run out of there.

"Ok," she said. "Go on."

"I know he holds a lot of meetings with the Kozlov lieutenants there. I've been to a few. Boris Kozlov has been there."

"Speaking of ol' Boris," Chase said. "Where is he?"

"You can give up trying to find him in LA," Whistler said. "He left here the _night_ I got pinched. He went back to Vegas."

"Vegas," Chase repeated.

"Yeah. He's got a house there, out by the canyons. Gated community."

"Back to Andrei," Chase said. Her eyes bored into Whistler. "He ID'd me last weekend. By name. And title. Want to tell me how he knows so much about me?"

Whistler glanced away. "I called him, with my one phone call," he admitted. _Fuckin' knew it,_ Chase thought. "I told him who you were, I told him you were the one that killed Anatoly." Chase expelled a breath between her lips harshly. "Kozlovs are big on vengeance," Whistler continued. "He's got it out for you."

"But why?" Chase asked. "I mean, I know he's part of the crime family but none of you guys are particularly loyal, not really. You're constantly looking to do yourself one better. I would think he'd be happy that Anatoly was out of the picture."

"You fuckin' feds," Whistler said, shaking his head. "You all think you're so smart but you don't know shit." He leaned forward. "Maybe if you'd done your homework a little better, you'd have found out that Vladimir Andrei is Boris and Anatoly's half-brother."

Chase frowned. "I have _extensive_ files on the Kozlov crime family," she said. "And I've never heard or read that anywhere."

"Doesn't make it less true," Whistler pointed out. "Just means your resources weren't up to snuff."

"So this is about blood," Chase said, more to herself than Whistler.

"Got that right," the man said. He gave Chase an appraising head-to-toe look. "Better make your time count, _Agent_." He smirked. "You're a dead woman walking."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note - You're welcome. ;-D**

**Chapter 13**

Chase put the final touches on herself slowly that evening. She knew she looked nice enough, in a white floral mini dress that had a flared A-line skirt and wide straps that crossed over her shoulder blades, leaving a large diamond-shaped opening at the back. She wore light brown wedge sandals with a strap that went around her ankles and she had a small clay white hibiscus tucked behind one ear, her hair cascading over her other shoulder in large waves.

But her insides were tight with stress. If what Whistler had told her was true, she had a target on her back. She had withheld that tidbit from Tuck and FDR, and she still hadn't told them she'd been ID'd by Andrei. She told them she'd seen him at Starbucks and that Whistler had confirmed his connection to the family and that he was running the drug operation out of LA.

She knew she was being a hypocrite, having just stressed to them earlier that they needed to keep each other abreast of information, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything, not yet. And she certainly couldn't back out of her girls' night with Lauren and Trish at this point; they'd be sure to tell FDR and Tuck who would be sure to come inquiring as to why.

She dropped her Keltec .380 into her oversize clutch after checking to make sure it was loaded and ready to go. She usually made a point to carry but since she'd been in LA she'd been a little lax. No more, though. If she could help it she wasn't even going to the bathroom without her piece.

She put on her short white trench coat and sighed and headed down the stairs. Mrs. Brown was watching the evening news in the living room and came out to see her off.

"Well, don't you look beautiful!" the elderly woman exclaimed. A knowing glint lit in her eyes. "Special date?"

"Ah, no," Chase said with a rueful chuckle. "Just dressing up for the girls."

"Oh, well. That's fun too." Mrs. Brown gestured toward the door. "Your chariot awaits!"

"My chariot?" Chase echoed.

Mrs. Brown opened the door, and Chase saw a white shuttle van sitting in the driveway. "It's the inn's shuttle service! The driver is my nephew."

Chase laughed and waved at the driver. "I didn't know you had such a thing."

"Well, we normally do, but you've been our only guest and you have a rental," Mrs. Brown explained. "But when you told me you were going out tonight, I thought I'd better provide you with some transportation so you don't have to worry about anything."

"That's so sweet of you," Chase exclaimed. "Thank you."

"Here's Sammy's number," Mrs. Brown went on, placing a slip of paper into her hand. "Just text him when you want to be picked up. He usually hangs out in the general area of where you'll be so you don't have to wait long."

Chase climbed into the shuttle and made pleasant conversation with Sammy on her way to the restaurant. She insisted he drop her at the corner so he didn't have to circle the block, trying to find a way to pull up to the front door and she walked toward the restaurant. When she walked in, she saw that it was warmly lit, the covered lighting and the candles on every table giving it a homey, romantic glow. She knew what Lauren looked like from the pictures on FDR's desk and spotted the pretty blonde immediately. She was sitting with a slightly older blonde woman at a large round table. She walked over as Lauren stood up. Chase held her hand out but to her surprise Lauren wrapped her in a hug.

"Sorry, I'm a hugger," she said with a laugh.

"It's not a problem," Chase said, returning the blonde's infectious smile. She shook hands with Trish.

"I am _not _actually a hugger," the woman said. "You don't want to hug me anyway. I'm usually covered in Cheetoh dust by this time on a Wednesday." Lauren burst out laughing and Chase assumed it was some sort of inside joke, so she smiled politely.

"So, you're really pretty," Trish went on.

"Ah, thank you," Chase said, squirming uncomfortably.

"And you like Tuck?"

"Trish," Lauren chided. She shook her head at Chase. "Just ignore her. She has no filter." She stopped to sip her wine, then said, "But you do, don't you?"

"Uh –" Chase said.

"Just – let's wait," Trish hissed loudly to Lauren behind her hand. "She hasn't had any wine yet."

After Chase had had a glass of wine, she loosened up a bit, feeling more comfortable with the two women. They were each already two glasses in by the time she had arrived at the restaurant. Trish had her laughing loudly at her outrageous comments and regaled her with inappropriate stories about her marriage.

"Are you guys going to order anything?" Chase asked, sipping her second glass of wine. She noticed that they were at a table large enough to comfortably seat eight people although there were three other empty chairs.

They exchanged a look. "Um, I think we'll wait," Lauren said lightly. "Once you've caught up and had your third glass we'll order." She winked at Trish.

"So, back to Tuck," Trish said. "You guys have…_not _had sex yet, correct?"

Chase practically choked on her wine. "No!" she exclaimed.

"And why the hell not?" Trish asked. "Have you _seen _that ass? His face?"

"I – we're not like that," Chase insisted. "We barely know each other and we've spent most of the past week deciding whether or not we hate each other. It seems to change every other day."

"He saved your life," Lauren pointed out.

"So, I've saved his," Chase shot back.

"He's _gorgeous_," Trish repeated. "Fuck saving lives. Why is it even an issue?"

"He's…all right," Chase conceded. She sipped her wine demurely.

"You want to fuck him, don't you?" Trish asked knowingly.

"Oh, my God," Chase said.

"Trish!" Lauren squealed.

"Or, like, face-sitting? Is that more your thing? He's got those lips," Trish said. "Where you know that the angle and the friction –"

"Jesus Christ," Chase said.

"Trish, stop!" Lauren exclaimed, breathless from laughing.

Chase put her glass of ice water to her hot cheek. She wasn't exactly a prude but she couldn't picture herself and Tuck engaged in those types of…_activities_ without turning a deep shade of red.

Trish watched her and smirked.

Lauren's eye line shifted to a point just over Chase's head. "Oh, hey! Great! You guys made it!"

Chase looked at her curiously, then the realization suddenly hit her and she glanced at Trish, who was also looking over her head before returning her eyes to Chase's and smiling smugly. Chase slowly turned to look over her shoulder and saw FDR, a heavyset man she didn't know, and…Tuck.

Chase turned and looked back at Lauren, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed. She shrugged her shoulders slightly and she and Trish exchanged a mini high-five. Chase pursed her lips and shook her head. Of course. She should have known. The dress code, the large table, the putting off of ordering meals…

"Chase, this is my husband, Bob," Trish said smoothly, and Chase stood up to shake Bob's hand as FDR went around the table to Lauren for a kiss and sat next to her. Chase moved over a seat so Bob could sit next to his wife and the only available seat for Tuck was right next to Chase.

"Hello," he said in his low, quiet voice. He half-smiled. "Clever bastards, aren't they?"

Chase sighed out a small laugh, glad he'd made the joke. "Uh, yes. Yes, they are." She reached for her wine and took a large sip to relax herself.

Tuck's eyes went over her slowly and she flushed even deeper. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely.

She glanced at him, taking in his pressed cream-colored button-down shirt and casual jeans. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. She was sitting close enough to smell his cologne and the spicy, delicious scent went straight to her head with the wine.

"Thanks," she replied. "You don't look so bad yourself."

The men ordered their drinks and the conversation fell underway. Lauren and FDR spoke at length about their rapidly approaching wedding in Vegas. Hearing the location of the wedding made Chase's ears perk up. Almost immediately a sense of dread washed over her, recalling again Whistler's words. She'd managed to push the thoughts away until now. She scooped up her wine glass and took another huge sip, signaling the waiter for more.

"And of course, Chase, I would love it if you could come," Lauren said sincerely. "And we're having a sort-of prenuptial dinner at FDR's grandmother's on Saturday. I would love to have you there."

Chase was surprised at being invited to such important events and swallowed another sip of wine. "Uh, wow, Lauren, that's so nice of you to invite me. Yes, I'll definitely come." _Especially to Vegas_, she thought darkly.

She suddenly felt warmth along her left side and started when she heard Tuck's low voice in her ear. "Are you all right?" he murmured, leaning close to her.

"Yes," she said quickly. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," he replied. "You're just drinking like it's the end of the world and seemed to get really tense at the mention of Vegas." He looked at her meaningfully. "Vegas will be fine," he added.

"I'm totally A-OK," she replied, smiling tightly. She lifted her wine glass to her lips and gulped another mouthful.

FDR started regaling them with quiet stories of past missions he and Tuck had been on. Chase widened her eyes with surprise and glanced at Trish and her husband. Once again, she suddenly felt warmth along her side as Tuck draped his arm over the back of her chair and leaned in close.

"Trish knows," he said quietly in her ear. She suppressed a shiver when his breath hit the flesh of her neck. "She was sort of….accidentally involved in one of our missions not too long ago." Chase looked at him curiously but nodded. As he sat back in his chair, she noted that he left his arm across the back of hers. She was afraid to sit back and touch him so she stayed leaned forward, her elbows on the table. Just knowing that his arm and his hand were that close to her made her pulse accelerate. She downed the rest of her wine quickly.

:O:O:O:

Tuck relaxed in his seat, listening to FDR's animated storytelling. Currently, he was sharing a story of their mission in Paris and how he'd ended up being dangled by his ankles from the Eiffel Tower until Tuck had managed to rescue him. It was interesting to be able to look back and laugh at stories that had had them shaking with fear while they were unfolding.

For the millionth time, his eyes went to Chase. His arm was draped casually over her chair but she was leaning on her elbows, her back straight as a ramrod as she sipped at her glass of wine as soon as it had been refilled. He didn't know how many she'd had before he'd arrived but by his count she was already on her fourth glass. She definitely seemed to be on edge, though precisely about what, he couldn't be sure.

What he _could_ be sure of was that he'd never seen her look lovelier than she did right now. She looked totally different in a short, pretty dress, her smooth, wavy hair cascading over one shoulder, a tiny white flower tucked behind her ear. Her cheeks were flushed (likely from all the wine) and her eyes were bright.

His eyes fell on the diamond of exposed, tanned flesh at her back. The wide straps of her dress crossed in an X over her shoulder blades at the back, leaving an expanse of smooth-looking skin open and available. He swallowed as he took in the ridges of her well-toned back, the indentation her spine made.

As though his hand had a mind of its own, he slowly stretched his fingers toward her back. He made contact, lightly brushing his fingertips along her spine until it disappeared under the material of her dress.

She gasped softly, imperceptible to everyone but him, and stiffened, but she didn't look at him or pull away. Carefully, he brushed the first knuckles of his fingers across her skin from side to side. He watched as her eyes closed briefly. He made a soft pulling motion against her skin with his index and middle fingers and thumb, like a man would stroke his beard. He couldn't believe how soft and smooth her skin was and he couldn't stop touching it.

For the rest of the evening he touched her whenever he could. She'd met his eyes only a few times when he did, and she would blush every time their eyes met. When they finally ordered dinner and their meals arrived, he dropped his hand. As soon as the dishes were cleared away, he draped his arm over her seat again and commenced stroking her soft skin. Sometimes his fingers would move up and play with the ends of her long, thick wavy hair. His fingers would follow the outline of her dress along her flesh; when he felt goosebumps rising he smiled to himself. He drank his scotch left-handed while he kept his right hand busy against her hair and skin. The more he touched her, the more turned on he got. The more he wanted her.

"It's getting late," Bob finally said, looking down at his watch. He looked at his wife meaningfully. "We still have to, uh –"

"Yeah," Trish said, lifting her hand. "I know. Come on, Bob."

"We should go too," Lauren said with a yawn, swaying slightly as she got to her feet. "Jesus, how many bottles of wine did we drink?"

"_You women_ drank five bottles of wine, congratulations," FDR announced. "Fucking lushes." He wrapped an arm around Lauren's waist as she burst into a fit of giggles. "Jesus, you have a control group tomorrow," he chided her. "You're gonna feel like shit."

"You know what to do to make me _not_ feel like shit," she murmured suggestively against his neck.

"So, we need to be going," FDR said immediately, to a chorus of laughs.

"You need a ride home?" Tuck asked Chase as they rose to their feet. She swayed slightly as well and he placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her.

"No, Mrs. B is sending me the shuttle," Chase murmured. She held up her phone. "I just sent him a text. He said he'd be here in ten minutes."

"You sure?" Tuck asked. "I can give you a ride."

Chase swept her tongue along her bottom lip and Tuck followed the movement with his eyes. "No, no way. I wouldn't make you drive all the way to Pasadena again," she said. "I'll be fine."

"It's really not a problem," he insisted, but she shook her head.

"I'll wait with you, then," Tuck said. He picked up her white jacket from her chair and helped her into it, then walked outside with her.

They bid their goodbyes, Lauren drunkenly making Chase promise to attend both the prenuptial dinner and the wedding, and let FDR lead her away. Tuck lifted a hand after them, grinning when Lauren teetered precariously in her heels.

"You girls sure like your wine," Tuck commented as they strolled a little ways down the street. The night spring air was slightly crisp and he smelled rain.

"We do," Chase said with a little laugh. "I haven't drank wine like that in a long time." She stepped off the main sidewalk to lean against the adjoining brick building at the lip of an alleyway next to the restaurant. "My feet are killing me!" she groaned.

Tuck leaned against the wall next to her, watching people passing them by in the crisp night air. He chuckled at her. "You poor thing," he mocked. Unbidden, his eyes went up her tanned, shapely legs.

She caught him and smirked. She pushed off from the wall and turned her body slightly toward his. "Thanks for waiting with me," she said, meeting his eyes. "That's very gentlemanly of you."

He smirked. "I don't know about 'gentlemanly'," he joked. "Maybe I just want to get you alone in an alleyway and take advantage of you." He meant it flippantly but it came out in a much deeper pitch than he'd meant it to.

She laughed again. "You wouldn't," she said. "You're too nice for that."

He let out a rueful laugh. "Nice," he repeated wryly. "Isn't that the 'kiss of death', as the Americans say?"

"No," Chase insisted. "Some of us still like nice guys." She reached up and pulled the flower from behind her ear and reached for him, putting the small stem through the top button hole of his shirt. "In the old days, girls used to give nice guys the flowers from their hair," she informed him, fiddling with it.

"Are you sure you know what you're talking about?" he murmured, looking down into her face with an amused grin. "That sounds like drunken rubbish to me."

"I'm _not _sure," she replied, poking him in the chest and teetering in her shoes, "and it's _not _drunken rubbish."

He grasped her arms to steady her as her hands played in his shirt. He glanced into the street to check for her van. "I'm quite sure it's just drunken –"

Her warm lips landing on his silenced him. They were soft but insistent. As suddenly as it happened, she pulled away, her lips leaving his with a little _smack._ He stared at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking away and pressing her fingers to her lips. "I shouldn't have – I'm sor –"

He leaned toward her, grasping her chin with his fingers and gently pulled her face toward him. He captured her lips in his as his hand snaked underneath her hair to cup the back of her head. A little moan left her mouth as he turned her around and pushed her up against the wall, pressing her into it with his body. He ran the tip of his tongue over her full, pouty upper lip until she gasped softly and opened her lips for him. He let out a deep but soft groan of pleasure as he gave her his tongue. She met it with her own, and they pulled and pushed together softly, sliding over each other, twisting.

His hand tightened in her hair as she fisted his shirt in both hands, gripping his waist. He closed his lips around her luscious bottom one, pulling it gently. He felt her breath increase in soft bursts on his cheek when he trailed his lips down her jawline to the swiftly throbbing pulse in her neck. He returned his lips to hers, his other hand cupping her cheek as he coaxed her mouth open wider to let him in deep.

The sudden buzzing of her vibrating phone startled them both, and they pulled apart. Chase's hand was shaking as she held her phone up.

"M-my ride," she stammered. Her chest was heaving as she panted for breath and Tuck's own breathing was labored as his pulse raced in his chest. They stared at each other for a moment. Her lips parted to speak, her eyes seemingly desperate to say something.

"I-I have to go," she finally managed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She raced off and Tuck leaned against the brick wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his bottom lip, wondering what the hell they had just done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Chase had been at work for an hour, but couldn't concentrate, her eyes stealing in the direction that Tuck and FDR always entered from. The most work she'd managed to do so far was to reply to her FBI friend's email regarding setting up a time for the Marshal to come in and speak with her and Whistler to proceed to the next stage of the protection program.

She glanced at her watch. It was three minutes 'til eight. She couldn't stand it anymore and decided to go somewhere, anywhere, to not be there when he got in. She jumped up from her desk and took a few scurrying steps before she realized she'd forgotten to lock her computer and grab her badge. She turned back and sat on her desk, leaning over to press the combination of keys to lock it and snatched up her badge. She turned and quickly exited the office area, moving as quickly as she could in her tall heels. The sleeve of her cardigan snagged on the metal corner of a cubicle and she paused momentarily to free herself. She grumbled over the tiny hole in her sleeve and turned to pick up her pace again. She rounded a corner and slammed into a solid body.

"Whoa," a soft, deep voice said, hands grasping her upper arms and steadying her.

She groaned inwardly. _Of course. Naturally. Fucking hell._

She looked sheepishly up into Tuck's handsome face. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly, folding his bottom lip up in between his teeth. FDR smirked at her from his side.

"Good morning," he said pointedly.

"Good morning," she replied hoarsely. Tuck was still holding onto her, studying her face carefully. "I'm just – I need to grab some water."

He narrowed his eyes slightly and dropped his hands. "All right. See you shortly." Chase offered them both a weak smile and hurried off, cursing her form-fitting pencil skirt for limiting her stride length. She walked into the cafeteria, forcing herself to regulate her breathing as she filled a cup with ice and then water. She grabbed a straw and took a long pull. When she felt calmer, she walked back to the office area. Tuck was lounging against his desk, chatting with FDR in a low voice. His arms were folded across his chest. FDR stood in front of him, his hands in his pockets. They both immediately hushed when she reappeared. Tuck fixed her with a piercing stare.

She blushed deeply, and cleared her throat. "Hey," she said to him, as if she'd just thought of something. "Um, are you busy? Can I talk to you?" Her voice rose several octaves at the end of her question and she hated the way her voice cracked.

"Sure. Of course," Tuck replied, pushing away from the desk. "Somewhere in private, then?"

"Preferably," she squeaked. She remembered seeing that one of the small conference rooms was empty and available for the time being on her way back from the cafeteria. She pushed the door open and waited for Tuck to follow her inside before shutting the door. He perched on the edge of the table, folding his arms again and crossing his ankles. He studied her face intently, waiting for her to speak.

"Uh," she began, clearing her throat. "So. Last night…"

"Last night," he repeated calmly.

"About that," she stammered. "In the alley." She risked a peek into his face and saw he was watching her, his face smooth and devoid of any expression. _Damn him_, she thought. He wasn't going to help her out at all.

"I don't normally behave…that way," she said. "I was, like, so drunk." She paused, considering. "Drunk-_ish._ Tipsy, really." She was lying. She'd been buzzed, but not enough to not know exactly what she was doing and exactly what was happening. She glanced up into his face again and she knew he knew she was lying.

"Right," he said. "Uh, me too." His tone was slightly mocking to her ears.

She bit down hard on her lip. "So," she started again. "I want to say I'm sorry…for…_that." _He nodded solemnly. She swallowed. She wasn't sorry, not one bit. "And it won't happen again." She wanted it to happen again. A lot. Over and over. The memory of his mouth on hers made her turn crimson and warmth pool between her legs. She had never, ever, _ever_ been kissed like that before…and she had never responded the way she had to anyone else like that in her life. But to her professional conscience, she'd been way out of line. It hadn't been his fault; she'd initiated it. She remembered the way his hand had buried itself in her hair, his fingertips pressing gently but insistently against her jaw to make her open her mouth wider. She put her hand to her mouth.

"I apologize as well," he said evenly. His gaze was so penetrative she feared he could see what was going on inside her head. "I was out of line."

"So, are we good here?" she asked desperately, finally meeting his eyes and needing to get out of this tiny room with him.

"We're…we are good," Tuck replied, offering her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ok, then," she said, whirling for the door. She grasped the handle. "We have a meeting with Collins in five minutes."

She suddenly felt his body against her back and froze. His hand fell over hers on the handle, his other hand braced on the wall next to the door.

"Let me get that," he murmured in her ear, and she could feel his lips brush her skin and the warmth from his breath. He slowly pulled the door open for her and she stepped out, turning to look at him with huge eyes. He gave her a half-grin and gestured in front of him, indicating she should go first. He was fucking with her, she was sure. She knew he knew she was totally full of shit.

She huffed and headed back toward their desks, hearing him chuckle lightly under his breath. FDR joined them and they headed up to Collins' office. She wasted no time.

"Thanks to Agent Moreno's interrogation of Whistler yesterday, we know that Vlad Andrei is the Kozlovs' half-brother and is currently controlling the drug operation in LA. They have a front for their operations at his deli, 'A Taste of Russia'. Tuck, I want you and Chase to go by there today and plant surveillance. We know from Whistler that Boris is in Las Vegas, but meetings with the crime family are held in the deli. I want surveillance to begin immediately."

She dismissed them and they exited the office. Chase's stomach was in knots and she knew she was going to have to come clean shortly.

"…plant some bugs," Tuck was saying to FDR. "She and I can go."

"Um, can I talk to you two, please?" Chase asked. They both glanced at her. She bit her lip. "I haven't told you everything Whistler told me yesterday."

"What are you talking about?" Tuck said, frowning.

She sighed. "I didn't tell you this before, but I saw Andrei at Starbucks before I met up with you and Joe on Sunday. I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. Then he called me 'Agent Moreno' and said he knew all about me."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tuck hissed, putting his hands on his hips.

"It just wasn't the right time," Chase said. "You had Joe. The atmosphere just didn't seem right. And I didn't want to call attention to it until I knew for sure who he was. And I wasn't sure until Monday night."

"And then…you still didn't say anything," FDR added.

"I wanted to talk to Whistler first," she replied. "Then yesterday he told me that he was the one who told Andrei who I was and that I'd killed Anatoly. And…he said that the Kozlovs are big on vengeance and Andrei has it out for me now."

"So they've made you," Tuck said, swiping a hand down his face.

"_Andrei_ made me," she corrected. "That doesn't mean everyone else has."

"They could be watching you," FDR pointed out. "_He_ could be watching you."

"Maybe," Chase said. "Nothing weird has happened and I've been keeping my eyes open."

"Yeah, I noticed you're carrying this morning," Tuck added, nodding toward her desk where her Glock 27 was out on her desk. She'd been intending to disassemble and clean it. "You sure nothing weird has happened?"

"Nothing," Chase said. "But, I'm staying cautious."

"Fuck, man," FDR groaned. "Should she be on this case?" He looked at Tuck.

"Hey," Chase said, offended. "'She' is right here. And yes, I need to be on this case. You guys don't have anyone else with my skillset or my experience and you damn sure don't have time to bring anyone else in." She glanced between them, seeing her point settling in as they exchanged a glance.

"She might be right," FDR sighed.

"All right, but we keep this between the three of us," Tuck muttered. "Understood?"

"No argument there," Chase said.

FDR left to go grab some coffee and Chase followed Tuck to the equipment staging area to begin selecting various surveillance items to take to the deli.

He glanced over at her. "You aren't coming with me," he said.

Chase held up a few tiny adhesive microphones. They were flat and circular-shaped, like little discs, mostly inconspicuous. "I'm aware of that," she replied. "Just want to make sure you bring the right stuff."

"Control freak," he muttered. He dropped the mini-recorder he was holding and reached out, grasping her forearm. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, but he was frowning.

"Look, Tuck," she began. "I know it was wrong to keep that to myself for as long as I did, and I know it makes me a huge hypocrite, but I needed some time to try and figure out what I'm dealing with. Being covert is sort of a requirement in the CIA so I'm not used to be personally targeted by someone _I'm _targeting."

"I can understand that," he replied. "I won't sit up and lecture you about making the wrong decisions; I can see that it bothered you enough already. All I'll say is…don't do it again." He met her gaze steadily and she nodded.

"I won't," she replied. "And thanks."

:O:O:O:

Chase was poring over her notes and files, feeling the edges of her brain being tugged gently by the onset of a migraine, when she heard whistling.

She glanced up, eyes narrowing involuntarily as she stripped her glasses off her face. Tuck had come back from Andrei's deli and was whistling, swinging a white paper bag in his hand.

She rose to her feet immediately. "Well?" she demanded.

He tossed the sack on her desk. "One beef and one chicken _pirozhki_," he replied. She gaped at him, ignoring the delicious smell wafting from the sack.

"How did it go?" she continued, putting her hands on her hips. "You got all the sound bugs in place? Were you able to put the visual surveillance in place?"

"You should try a bite," Tuck said. "They're delicious."

"Tuck," she said, irritation pulling at her voice as she leaned forward. "The bugs?"

He grinned. He did love to annoy her. "I got the auditory bugs in place," he affirmed. "As you said, the visual ones didn't work out. It was fairly busy in there and there was no way for me to place those as inconspicuously as the auditory ones."

She nodded, pursing her lips and folding her arms. "That's what I was afraid of," she murmured. She felt Tuck's eyes on her as he lounged against her desk. "I want to _see_ who's going in and out of there," she went on, frowning.

Tuck reach out and rustled the sack and gave her a charming smile. "Why don't we talk over lunch?"

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "I can't believe you bought lunch from there."

"Why not?" he asked with a shrug. "I love Russian food and this deli got four out of five stars on Yelp." He pushed off from her desk and held up the sack. Chase had to admit, it smelled amazing and her stomach confirmed it by growling loudly. She clapped a hand to her tummy, embarrassed as Tuck laughed at her.

"Come on, then," he said.

She followed him to the cafeteria, feeling awkward again. She couldn't be alone with him, relatively speaking, without feeling that way. She sat down across from him, looking everywhere but his face. He studied her carefully and cut each _pirozhki_ in half so they could share each kind.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said, taking an enormous bit of the fried dough pocket filled with meat, onions, and vegetables. It was fantastic.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why don't I believe that?" he asked rhetorically.

She shrugged and averted her eyes. "Listen," she said, changing the topic. "Since we don't have visual access, we need to go stake out the deli. Tonight. Put Boyles, Downing, Dickerman, whoever in the control room on shifts and record everything those bastards say. But I want to _see."_

Tuck nodded. "Fine. Let's go talk to Frank."

They left the cafeteria and went to FDR's desk, where he was on the phone. He saw them and spoke quickly into the receiver. Chase deduced he was speaking to Lauren by his low, murmuring tone and the dopey grin he got on his face.

"What's up guys?" he asked.

"We're staking out the deli tonight," Chase said. "Tuck was able to place audio surveillance but not visual."

"I can't," FDR said. He balked under their dirty looks. "Lauren's parents are flying in tonight! She will have my ass on a stake if I'm not there. I haven't met them yet and her dad is scary. He scares me over the phone."

Chase sighed. "All right, all right. Just make sure you have agents in the control room monitoring the audio. Three shifts a day."

FDR nodded. "All right, no problem. I got some rookies who need the experience."

Tuck followed her back to her desk. "I'll pick you up this evening," he said.

Chase smirked up at him, arching a brow. "Tuck, you don't need to drive all the way –"

"Just hush with that. I'll be by to get you when it's dark."

:O:O:O:

When Chase got back to the B&B, she changed out of her work attire and into a pair of jeans, an old gray university T-shirt, her favorite black leather quilted jacket, and a pair of sturdy calf-high motorcycle boots. She swept her hair into a high ponytail and proceeded to break down her Glock and clean it meticulously before unloading all of the bullets, wiping each one off and reloading the mag. She slammed it home and cocked it to chamber a round. She loved the Glock for the reason that many feared it – it didn't have an official safety switch to be flicked off or on. The safety mechanisms lay within the weapon itself, with the double-triggering system and other passive safeties. Over the years, she'd found herself in some tight situations and having to fumble with a safety switch could have been the difference between life and death. Moreover, the Glock had a powerful but smooth discharge, especially with the size she preferred to carry – the 27. It was nicknamed the "baby Glock", slightly smaller than her other favorite, the Glock 23, but equally as powerful. She smirked at it and gave the barrel a quick kiss.

She put the firearm in its holster and wedged the holster into the waistband of her jeans. She had a small shoulder holster on under her jacket to hold her compact .380 as well. She packed up her laptop and her file notes on the Kozlovs.

There was a knock on her door and she cracked it open, seeing Mrs. Brown. "Hi," she greeted the landlady.

"Hi, dear. I just wanted to let you know that Sammy isn't going to be available tonight if you –" Her eyes fell on the holstered gun at Chase's hip and widened.

"Don't worry," Chase hastened to tell her. "This, uh, is for work."

"Are you a cop?" Mrs. Brown asked, her eyes still huge.

"Ah, no. Not exactly," Chase said uncomfortably. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it. It was a text from Tuck. "Here," was all it said. She sighed inwardly with relief. He had nothing if not great timing.

"I've got to go," Chase said to the woman. "I'll be back – well, I'm not sure when. Don't wait up for me." She left the still somewhat shocked woman in the hall and hurried outside. She paused in the driveway, studying Tuck's truck.

She waved him out of the car. He cut the engine and hopped out. "What's the matter?" he asked, sounding slightly impatient.

"I'm driving," she said. "Come on." As he got closer, she added, "Your truck is sort of conspicuous and besides, you've already driven it there today. They might notice seeing it again at nine o'clock at night after they've closed. That could raise some suspicion."

She let Tuck drive since he was familiar with the area and she busied herself pulling up her notes and connecting to the audio surveillance through her laptop. The agents who had been monitoring during the day had nothing of interest to report. Currently, Downing, Bothwick and Dickerman should be in the control room back at the agency, listening in. He pulled to a stop just down the street from the neighborhood deli. It was located within a strip of businesses. Across the street were luxury apartments.

"Seems an unlikely place for a drug operation," she said quietly, staring at the business' edifice intently.

"Which makes it the perfect place," Tuck replied, leaning his arm on the frame of the window. "No one would readily assume anything like that was going on."

"True," Chase said absently, rubbing her chin.

"Should have brought some coffee," Tuck joked, nodding toward the seemingly empty and quiet restaurant. "Looks to be a long night."

"Have faith," Chase replied. "I have a hunch something's going to go down."

"I love hunches," Tuck joked, reclining his seat slightly and placing his hands under his head, his elbows winged out. His casual position was in stark contrast to hers; she was alert, leaning forward, her elbows braced on her knees, staring into the darkness toward the deli intently. He studied her profile in the darkness of the car; she looked tense and focused, her brow furrowed. Her hands fisted into each other and were pressed against her mouth. His thoughts turned to her confession to him and FDR about being ID'd by Andrei. He had genuinely been pissed that she hadn't immediately brought that to their attention, and by all rights, she should be removed from the case for her safety and theirs. But she'd had a valid point – he knew no one else with her skills and abilities, and at this stage in the game, they simply didn't have the time to search for anyone else. And, if he were being fair, he honestly didn't know how he'd react in her situation either. He did know how it felt to be targeted though; the Heinrich case had been just that. Heinrich had discovered his and FDR's identities and the result of that had been frightening, endangering not only theirs, but also Lauren's and even Trish's lives. He didn't want to go through that again – that desire wasn't a selfish one, but more that he didn't want to experience the fear of losing a comrade. And Chase was a comrade, of sorts.

He glanced at her again. His thoughts flew back even earlier that day to their first conversation. He bit his lip to stop them from twisting into a smirk. She was so full of shit. Everything she'd said, from being drunk to being sorry to not wanting it to happen again was absolute rubbish. She wanted it like he wanted it, but he wasn't going to push the issue. He just wanted her to know that she was transparent; her act might have worked on a lesser man, but they possessed the same manipulative skills necessary for their line of work and she wasn't going to get anything over on him. Besides, she hadn't even been convincing. _Not to mention… _She had initiated it. She had kissed him first, letting him know exactly what it was she wanted and he was more than happy to give it to her. He remembered the way she'd gripped his waist tightly, the way her lips had trembled under his and opened for him, how her tongue had slid along his. He wasn't an arrogant, overly self-confident man like FDR could be. He was genuinely humble and considered himself to be a nicer breed of "guy" but, fact was fact. She wanted him like he wanted her. It was that simple.

Suddenly, they heard voices from her laptop. They both instinctively whipped their heads toward the computer then met gazes. They heard several voices at once, making it difficult to discern exactly what was being said.

"I didn't see anyone walk up," Chase hissed.

"There's got to be a back entrance," Tuck replied. He started the car and they drove around toward the back. Indeed, there was a small employee lot that spanned the entire length of the building, indicating that employees of all the businesses could park back there. There were four luxury vehicles parked in the back. There were also a few cars parked in the street.

"Think those belong to the party attendants?" Tuck asked Chase.

"Please," she replied. "Who else would park a Maserati and a BMW in the _street?"_

The chattering from inside ceased, and a lone voice began speaking. "I wanted to get everyone together," it said in Russian, "to let you know that brother Boris is doing well in Las Vegas. He's getting things in place to start a Nevada operation. To that end, he wants all of us to come together in Las Vegas next week for a meeting of the minds, as it were, to discuss and plan strategies and roles. There are several other families that he would like to join in our efforts who will be present at this meeting as well."

Chase and Tuck exchanged another look as a swell of voices rose.

"Please, everyone. All of your presences will be requested and your travel arrangements made. We will be contacting everyone shortly with your itineraries. It is to be a relaxing trip with more pleasure than business."

The agents listened intently for several more minutes until the meeting was formally dismissed. Chase had no doubt that the speaker was none other than Vlad Andrei himself, and told Tuck as much.

Tuck groaned, slapping his forehead. "This _would_ have to coincide with the wedding. Dammit."

Chase suddenly remembered that FDR and Lauren's wedding was also going to be next week. In Vegas.

"All right," she said slowly. "All right. It'll be ok. We'll let LVMPD and the FBI know what we've found here. We're all going to be in Vegas, we'll keep our eyes open. We're going to have to try to figure out which day and where it's going to be. We're going to have to get resourceful." She nodded reassuringly at Tuck while meanwhile her mind raced. She was going to have to reiterate to FDR and also to the other agents the dire need for three shifts of monitoring the surveillance feed for the next couple days. Las Vegas was a large city – there were many possibilities where the meeting could go down. Her first order of business the next day would be to contact the feds and also Las Vegas Metro Police Department to let them know the situation and to get as many of their resources on the case as possible.

"I think we've been spotted." Tuck's low voice interrupted her thoughts as she glanced up. A group of men was walking out the back door and had stopped, pointing in their direction. She had tinted windows, but they were perpendicular to the lot and so they could see through the untinted windshield. She couldn't be one hundred percent sure in the darkness, but she thought she saw Andrei. One of the men began walking in their direction.

"_Fuck_," she hissed, sinking low into her seat. "What do we do?"

"Get out of here," Tuck replied, reaching for the ignition. She stopped him with a hand.

"We can't just do that," she whispered back, not sure why she was whispering. "They could follow us, or start shooting at us. We need to play it like –" Sudden inspiration struck her, lifting her heart and making her stomach drop at the same time. She glanced at the quickly approaching man, then at Tuck from under her lashes. She pulled herself up in her seat.

"Look at me," she commanded, and when Tuck turned his face toward her, she swooped in, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips onto hers. She felt him start with surprise, then immediately relax as one of his hands slid up into her hair and his lips started to move slowly with hers. She kissed him desperately, not sure if the emotions she was feeling had more to do with what she was currently doing or the approaching threat.

Tuck tilted his head so that he was foremost to the oncoming Russian, obscuring Chase's face from view. She didn't know if it was intentional or if he was really getting into it. She thought it could be a little of both when he didn't stop kissing her; instead, he pulled at her lower lip with his own until she parted them and then slid his tongue into her mouth. Despite her anxiety at being discovered, she couldn't keep an electric jolt of desire at bay, fear sharpening her want, her need. Her lips took on a mind of their own as she sucked his tongue, a soft, involuntary moan rumbling in her throat.

A sharp rapping noise of knuckles on glass broke them apart. Tuck turned almost casually and cracked the window a bit.

"What's up, mate?" he asked.

"You need to move the car," a heavily accented voice replied. "This is private area."

"Oh, sorry, mate," Tuck replied smoothly. "I was just takin' my girl home, and, well, she got a little…antsy." He let out a smooth laugh and Chase pressed herself back into her seat, turning her face so she wouldn't be seen.

"Whatever," the Russian said. "Just get out of here." He stepped away as Tuck rolled up the window. He started the car and pulled off as the man headed back across the street. By then, the other men, including Andrei, had gotten into the other vehicles. Some left, and some remained, watching as Tuck drove off.

"Holy shit," Chase gasped. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

"That was close," he murmured, his eyes flickering back and forth between the road and the rearview.

"We clear?" she asked him breathlessly.

"Clear," he replied, and she let out a deep sigh of relief. They rode in silence for a while, Chase still slumped down in her seat, before Tuck spoke again.

"That was, er, quick thinking back there," he said, and she didn't need light to see the twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, well," she said, clearing her throat and slowly sitting up straight. "It seemed like the best decision to make. At the time."

"I agree, I don't see that we had many other options," he replied, a hint of a laugh tugging at his warm, deep voice. "At the time."

She sat in silence, folding her arms, beginning to fume. She hated when he made fun of her.

"I like it when you think quickly on your feet," he went on. "It was especially advantageous for me this evening."

"Tuck," she said, a warning note in her voice. "I did what I did because there was no other way around it. Unless you would have preferred to take a bullet to the brain."

"No, I'll take kissing you over being shot in the head, any day," he replied. "It's definitely the better of the two options."

She glared at him witheringly before turning away to look out her window. It _had_ been an impulsive decision to make, but it was the most logical one she could think of at the time. No matter that her lips were still tingling or that she could still taste and feel his tongue in her mouth. Reflexively, her fingertips flew to her lips. She could feel his eyes on her.

He pulled off onto the exit for Pasadena and they hit the Arroyo Parkway in no time. She sighed, feeling like they needed to discuss her "decision" in a bit more detail. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Listen, Tuck," she started shyly, when she was suddenly thrown forward as he brought her rental to a sharp, lurching halt. Her seat belt caught her, or else she would have surely cracked her forehead on the dashboard. She looked up at him sharply. "The fuck?"

"Look," he hissed, and she caught the sudden alert, tense look on his face. She whirled her head toward the dark house and started to ask what the hell his problem was, when she saw it.

The front door was wide open, gaping like a yawning mouth into the blackness behind it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Chase, wait!"

Chase ignored Tuck's harsh whisper and wrenched open the door, pulling her Glock from her holster as she went. She pointed it in front of her, shifting her body slightly to lead with her side, sidling quickly and carefully up to the house. She heard Tuck's door shut and his footsteps come rapidly up behind her. She glanced back and saw he had his own gun drawn. She swept the porch area carefully, wishing she had a flashlight. Tuck cleared the dense shrubbery surrounding the porch and nodded to her that it was all clear.

She sidled up the front steps toward the door, bending her knees to go in low while Tuck covered her open side high. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark and she caught his attention with a touch to the shoulder, using military hand signals to indicate which direction she wanted to move in. He nodded tersely back to her and she went to the right into the parlor area. She paused in the darkness, listening intently. She heard absolutely nothing. Over the years she'd learned to distinguish between dead silence and the quietness of a silent presence. She was fairly certain this level of the house was empty; she simply didn't _sense_ another living being on this floor. Nevertheless, she swept into the kitchen, her eyes taking in everything. Light suddenly flooded in from the attached living room, and Tuck walked in, his gun lowered. He caught her gaze and shook his head. She pointed upstairs.

They crept up the stairs, and Chase's senses overtook her. It was also quiet up here, but she felt another living presence. She motioned with a chopping gesture for Tuck to clear down the hall to the right and she moved left, toward her bedroom. She cleared a couple of the other guest bedrooms as she made her way down the hall, each one still and clear. She moved slowly toward her room, where she sensed the living presence, as Tuck joined in close behind her. She crouched and gripped the knob, looking over her shoulder and up at him as he kept his back to the wall, out of the door frame.

She shoved open the door and swept the room from her crouched position. She heard a muffled cry and rocketed to her feet, slamming her hand against the wall to activate the light in the room. Mrs. Brown sat bound to a chair, her mouth covered in duct tape. Her wrists and ankles were also duct taped.

"I'll call the police," Tuck said calmly, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

Chase rushed to the woman's side, pulling at the tape. She reached into her pocket for her knife and sawed at the stubborn tape, freeing first her ankles then her wrists. Mrs. Brown reached up to tug the tape off her mouth.

"Are you all right?" Chase demanded, putting her hands on Mrs. Brown's shoulders. "Who did this? When did this happen?"

Mrs. Brown reached up to pat her hands shakily. "Yes, yes, dear. I'm all right. I don't know who it was. A couple of young men with heavy accents came in here. They said they wanted to leave a little message for you and that I should show them to your room. I refused and they held me at gunpoint."

"Did they hurt you?" Chase asked.

"No, no. They just frightened me. I'm sorry, dear, but I had to show them up here. They went through your things but the only thing they found was this." It was then that Chase noticed her CIA badge was around Mrs. Brown's neck as the elderly woman pulled it off and handed it over. Chase clenched her jaw. The message was clear. They knew who she was, who she worked for, and where she was staying. They were watching her.

"CIA?" Mrs. Brown whispered, her eyes wide. "You work for the CIA?"

Chase hesitated. Then she did something that she absolutely wasn't allowed to do under any circumstance; something that could not only get her taken off the case, but removed from the agency altogether.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm an agent, and I'm here undercover working on a case. The men that came here, they're part of a Russian mafia family and they're after me because I killed their leader. They wanted to let me know by doing this they're watching me. They could have killed you but they chose not to, and they wanted to let me know that they made that choice."

She didn't know how Mrs. Brown would react, but the landlady, to her credit, appeared accepting if shaken. She nodded a little bit.

"Ok," she said finally. "I don't need to ask if that's something I can share. That'll stay between me and you."

"I would appreciate that," Chase replied, smiling slightly. "My career could be over if anyone knew I told you that. But I owe you an explanation for putting you in harm's way."

"You did nothing of the sort," Mrs. Brown replied. "You were doing your job and your duty. You're not responsible for others' actions."

Chase helped the woman to her feet. "It didn't look like they took anything. Tuck and I cleared the house downstairs and up here."

"No, I don't imagine they would have," Mrs. Brown said. "Their intent was quite clear. I saw them pull into the driveway. They came right on up to the house, and left right after they were done. The whole thing took less than ten minutes."

Chase sighed. "You're going to have to leave here," she said. "Close this place down for a bit. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"

"I've got some family and friends, I'll be all right," Mrs. Brown said.

Tuck poked his head in. "Hi, there," he said to Mrs. Brown, who, in spite of the situation, smiled and fluttered. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," Mrs. Brown replied.

"Smashing. The police are here. Let's not mention anything about the, ah, government agency for whom you work," Tuck said, staring pointedly at the badge in Chase's hand before ducking out.

"Why can't the police know?" Mrs. Brown asked, watching Chase stuff the badge down the front of her shirt.

"The police are well-meaning," Chase explained, "but we can't afford the risk of a leak. Not everyone in the department is particularly discreet. The feds and the police chief and a few other high-ranking officers know what we're doing because we have to work with them. But random cops – we're going to tell them you had a break-in tonight."

She helped Mrs. Brown downstairs and outside and spent the next forty-five minutes talking to the cops. Then Mrs. Brown packed up a few things as Chase got all of her belongings together. Tuck was searching intently through the cab and exterior of his truck when Chase and Mrs. Brown reemerged.

"So, lock this place up," Chase said. "I'm sorry to disrupt your business, but it's not safe for you here. I'll contact you when the case is over. Then you can re-open."

"Any idea how long that might be?" Mrs. Brown asked.

"No idea," Chase said with genuine regret. "I'm sorry. I know this is so inconvenient."

"It's all right," Mrs. Brown said firmly. "What will you do? Where will you go?"

"Don't worry about me," Chase replied. "I'll be fine."

"Call me when this is over," Mrs. Brown said, placing a hand on Chase's wrist. "And not just to let me know about reopening the inn. I need to know you made it out ok, that you're…well."

Chase smiled, touched. "I promise," she said. "You're my first call when this is wrapped up."

"In the meantime," Mrs. Brown said, and then made a zipping motion across her lips. She gave Chase a farewell hug and climbed into her car and pulled off.

Chase sighed, her hands on her hips, watching the landlady, her friend, drive away. She felt utterly guilty for not only driving the woman out of her house but forcing her to close up her business for the time being.

"It's not your fault," Tuck said from behind her, as though he were reading her mind.

"It is, indirectly," Chase replied without turning around. She shook her head. "Bastards," she mumbled under her breath. She heaved a sigh and turned finally. "What were you looking for in your truck?"

"Well, it was here when they were here," he replied. "I was sweeping it for bugs. I don't know how technologically savvy they are but, I wanted to be sure."

She nodded mutely. He wouldn't have needed to worry about that if it weren't for her. Mutely, she leaned down and grabbed her hastily packed bags and hauled them down to her rental.

"Where are you going?" Tuck asked, trailing behind her.

"Not sure," she replied. "I saw a Holiday Inn not too far from the agency. There, I guess."

She jumped a little when she felt his hand on her arm, pushing gently to make her turn. "Don't do that," he said softly. "You can stay with me."

She laughed despite herself. "Yeah, right."

"Seriously," he said. "In light of this, I don't want you to be by yourself. You don't have any family here. I've got a nice loft. You can have the bed, I'll sleep downstairs on the couch. I'm relatively close to work." He studied her face then shrugged. "I won't take no for an answer."

She hesitated. What he said made sense, but still… "I don't know, Tuck…"

He saw her hesitation. "Look, Chase. It's almost midnight. Just stay with me for the night, and if you hate it, we'll figure something else out tomorrow. But I'm not going to let you be alone tonight."

Finally, she nodded. She felt weary, and hungry, and drained, and she wanted a shower, a stiff drink, and to go to sleep.

"Great. Just follow me." He glanced at her car, then said, "Oh, and we're getting rid of your rental, too." He helped her load her things in his truck, then she walked back to her rental and followed him into downtown Los Angeles.

:O:O:O:

She followed him into a covered, secure underground parking lot. He helped carry her bags into the building, riding an elevator up to the top floor. She followed him down a long hallway, lined with brick, and into his loft. She wasn't sure what to expect, but was pleasantly surprised. It was a tidy, masculine study of browns, natural lighting, leather furniture and various boyish decorations hanging off the wall. One corner had been converted into a sparring area, with a mat on the floor, a punching bag and gloves. Her eyes fell on the two vintage motorcycles parked against one wall. The kitchen was offset from the expansive living room area, with a stainless steel refrigerator and solid oak cabinets. She eyed the stove, seeing it was a high-end range, like the kind used by chefs in nice restaurants.

"Very nice," she commented, smiling.

"Glad you like it," he replied. "Let me show you to the loft." He led her up a staircase against one wall to the loft and bedroom area. The loft was sort of an open-air second floor living room, with a wide, soft-looking leather sofa and a flat-screen on the wall. The master bedroom and master bathroom were behind a door in the opposite wall.

He pushed open the door to the bedroom and it was similar to the décor of the downstairs area – a deep chocolate brown down comforter on the bed, piled high with pillows, black lacquer dresser in the corner, another flat-screen on the wall. It had the same soft, warm lighting as the downstairs had.

"Your lodgings, miss," Tuck joked, setting her bags on his bed. "I hope they will be to your liking."

"It's very nice," she said, feeling suddenly shy as she stared at his bed. "Thank you, Tuck."

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

"Other than a shower and sleep, no," she said, slipping off her leather jacket and pulling her shoulder holster and hip holster off.

"Well, would you care to join me for a quick nightcap after you've showered?" he asked.

"Yes. That sounds like something I need," she replied with a chuckle.

"Do you have a preference? I have just about everything."

"Whatever you have that's hard," she said automatically. "Something hard." She realized what she'd said and blushed. "Hard _alcohol_, that is. I meant –" She gave up and sighed, grabbing one of her bags that held her toiletries. "Nevermind."

Tuck was laughing at her openly. "I got it. See you in a few." He backed out and shut the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Chase emerged from a hot shower, feeling a little more refreshed. She put on a loose white T-shirt with the shoulders cut out and a pair of sleep shorts. She had never given them a thought but now she was uncomfortably aware of how short they were as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She tugged on the edge of the oversized T-shirt and made her way downstairs, her hair still damp.

Tuck had changed as well, into a pair of black lounge pants and a matching T-shirt that clung to his body. His back was to her as he was drying dishes from his sink and putting them away in the cupboards. She stared at the way the pants hung off his rear end and the way the sleeves of his T-shirt clung to his generously muscled biceps. When he finally turned to face her, she saw his T-shirt was V-necked, showing her glimpses of the tattoos on his chest and it outlined his well-developed pectoral muscles nicely. She gulped, realizing that she was actually salivating. She joined him at the breakfast bar, sitting across from him, not missing the way his eyes went over her in her loose shirt and tiny shorts. He slung his dishtowel over his shoulder and placed a glass of amber liquid in front of her.

"I seem to recall you mentioning you enjoyed scotch," he said, taking a sip from his own matching glass.

Chase grabbed the glass and brought it to her lips, taking a long sip. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rich flavor and the burning sensation it created in her throat and chest. "Yes. This is the good stuff, too."

He laughed. "FDR gave this bottle to me for my last birthday. I hadn't opened it yet."

Her eyes flew open. "You didn't need to waste this on me!" she exclaimed. She could appreciate excellent scotch, and this was aged, single-malt stuff.

He smiled and leaned toward her, extending his glass. Curiously, she clinked hers against his. "What are we toasting to?" she asked.

"Progress," he replied. "We're getting closer."

"Yeah, after a few catastrophic setbacks," she replied sarcastically, taking another sip.

"I don't see it that way," he said softly. He cleared his throat. "Since we're leaving on Sunday, I had planned to get Joe tomorrow after school and keep him until Sunday morning. I hope that's all right."

She smiled at him incredulously. "Of course it's all right," she said. "He's your son. Not to mention, I'm kinda fond of your 'mini-me'. I just hope I'm not going to upset any boys' night plans you had."

"Not at all," he said. He caught her eyeing his stove and the pots and pans he'd hung artfully on the wall above it. "What?"

"You know what to do with all that?" she asked skeptically.

He looked hurt. "Are you implying you don't think I have mad skills in the kitchen?" he demanded. She shrugged, bringing her glass to her lips to hide her smile.

"You said it, not me," she said.

"I'll have you know I am a great cook," he replied. "What about you?"

She looked at him scornfully. "I'm Spanish and Sicilian," she replied. "What do _you _think?"

"I think you should cook for me, then," he said seriously, nodding. "That's what I think."

She burst out laughing. She thought of something. "Well, it would be the least I could do since you've so kindly given me a place to stay," she said. "I could cook for you and Joe tomorrow. What does he like? Is he a picky eater?"

"He does like his mac and cheese and hot dogs," Tuck said, "but he's usually willing to try new things. What did you have in mind?"

"I could make pizza," she said. "Dough and sauce from scratch. We could go to the store and get different kinds of toppings. He might have fun helping me out. Do you have a pizza stone?"

Tuck thought for a moment, then reached behind him to rummage through a cupboard He pulled out a round, flat stone. "This thing?"

"That's it," she replied. "Perfect."

"That sounds great," he replied. He smiled at her, the moment drawing out as they locked gazes. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes, quickly tossing back the rest of her drink. She shoved the glass toward him.

"Thanks for the drink, barkeep," she said lightly. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"Goodnight," he said, following her with his eyes as she went back upstairs.

She shut the door behind her, automatically reaching for her Glock to slide it under the pillow. She climbed into his bed, crawling under his piles of sheets and the thick, down comforter. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing in pleasure. His delicious, warm, spicy scent was all over his bedding. She buried her face in his pillows, pulling the bedding all around her, breathing in as deeply as possibly until she started getting lightheaded. She imagined he was lying next to her, the scent enveloping her actually his arms tight around her. She imagined their legs intertwined and a flash of desire went through her. She curled into a ball, buried under his covers and his smell, and went to sleep.

:O:O:O:

Tuck sighed as he lay on his back on the couch. He adjusted his pillow under his head, arranging his blanket around his legs and feet. He stared straight up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Chase in his bed and failing miserably. He never would, but he would have loved to creep upstairs and slide in beside her, wrapping her body up in his arms. He wondered if she was sleeping in that T-shirt and those tiny little shorts…or if she took them off. He swept a hand down his face, willing his body, specifically one area below the waist, to calm down. He hadn't been with a woman since Katie, and that had been some months ago now. And even then, if he was being honest with himself, his body had just gone through the motions. He hadn't felt that real spark of true passion until…until last night in the alleyway, and then again tonight in the car.

He sighed, glancing up in the general direction of his bedroom, before he rolled over to attempt to get some sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note - Hi lovelies! Second update for ya :-) I'm in a hurry to get this out as I'm going away this weekend, so I apologize for any typos - I will fix them later, promise! Eek don't flame me. I hope you all had a lovely Valentine's Day and please read, enjoy, and REVIEW! **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**Chapter 16**

Chase woke the next morning with a sigh. She'd slept fitfully the night before, unable to stop thinking of Mrs. Brown, and the Russians, and obsessing over the surveillance feed. And, every time she woke and took a deep breath, she was assailed with Tuck's scent and her want for him ratcheted even higher. She couldn't remember ever being this hormonal, and, well, _horny _before. Then again, she'd never experienced someone who had made her feel that way before. At one point during the night, she'd woken in a hot sweat. She couldn't be sure but she thought she might have been dreaming about her new roommate. All she knew was that she was hot, sweaty and most definitely moist where it mattered most.

She took another shower, a cold one, and set about getting ready for work. After her restless sleep, she decided she was going to self-impose her own casual day, not wanting to put much effort into her appearance. She opted for jeans, bright red converse and a black NYU T-shirt. She left her hair down and wavy and grabbed her jacket, gun, bag, and sunglasses to hide her red-rimmed eyes.

When she got downstairs, she instantly smelled coffee, eggs and cinnamon. She dropped her things on the side table next to the staircase and walked into the kitchen. She saw Tuck at the stove, whistling softly to himself as he cooked French toast. He glanced up and met her eyes as she slowly pulled her shades down her nose in amazement.

"Casual day, eh?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. He was _not _casually dressed but she didn't care.

"Yes," she said. "What's that? Can I eat that?" She was starving.

He laughed. "Yes. You hurt my feelings last night when you accused me of not being able to cook so I decided to prove my mad skills to you." He nodded to the breakfast bar behind him to a steaming mug. "That's for you. I don't know how you like it so I left it black."

"Ooh, cream and sugar for me," she murmured, helping herself.

"Wimp," Tuck teased.

"So," she shot back lamely. It was too early and she was too tired for cleverness. She brought the mug to her lips. "Mmm. That's great coffee."

"Here you go," Tuck said, placing a plate of eggs and French toast before her. She gave him a playfully suspicious look, poking at the eggs with her fork. He frowned in mock-hurt.

"Just kidding," she said, and dug in with gusto.

"Well?" Tuck demanded.

"As breakfast goes," she said, swallowing, "it's great. Well done."

They finished up breakfast and headed out of the apartment toward the garage. She hesitated in front of her rental. It seemed silly to take two cars when they were going and coming back to the same places.

"Er, you can just ride with me," he said as though reading her mind. "Since we're going the same place and everything."

"That's fine," she replied, flushing. She wondered what everyone would think, seeing the two of them rolling up and leaving together.

"We need to return your rental tomorrow," Tuck said. "No sense in taking any chances with what they do and don't know about you. We can line up another one after we come back from Vegas. If you want."

"Sounds good," Chase said quietly. She picked up on his usage of "we". She appreciated it and was flattered by it, but she didn't know what it meant.

When she got to her desk, she paused long enough to set down her bag and sort through it before immediately charging into the control room. The agents in the room had been sitting around with cups of coffee, bullshitting most likely, but they shut up and snapped to attention when they saw her.

She explained what had been picked up last night on the surveillance feed and what they would need to be listening for in particular – date, time and location of the Vegas meeting.

"Who speaks Russian fluently?" she barked. One of the agents raised his hand. "All right. You and I are going to be in charge of translating anything that comes over in Russian. I'm not sure how many of the other agents on the surveillance monitoring project speak Russian so you and I are most likely going to be very busy. That a problem?"

The agent shook his head quickly.

"Good. I'm going to be doing as much monitoring as I can but if you hear anything you come tell me. Understood?" There were nods all around.

Chase retreated to her desk and spent the rest of her day with her earbuds in, listening intently to the feed that came over from the deli. It was mostly unremarkable, but she heard a few comments that might have alluded to the operation, spoken in Russian between the proprietor, who she believed to be Andrei, and a "customer". She jotted the notes while alternately checking her email. Toward the end of the day, she received a message from her friend at the FBI regarding the findings of the Marshal who had come to speak with Whistler yesterday while Tuck had been bugging the deli. Good news for the prisoner – in exchange for his testimony when the time came, he would be admitted into the program.

She was sending her reply of thanks back to her friend when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up to see FDR grinning down at her.

"What's up?" she asked, focused on her laptop.

"So, you and Tuck are shacking up now?" FDR asked cheerily.

"_No_," she said, annoyed. "I was sort of forced out of my host's home last night and needed a place to crash. It's only temporary. I'll find someplace else to stay." She glanced up at him. "How about you mind your own business?"

"Tuck's business is my business," FDR said, making himself comfortable on her desk. "I just want to know what your intentions are with my little Tuckie."

"My intentions are to wrap up this case and build enough evidence for Kozlovs to be indicted," she replied.

FDR sighed heavily, obviously not getting the information he wanted. "Fine. Be that way."

"How were Lauren's parents?" Chase asked, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," FDR replied. "Her father is definitely as frightening as I thought."

Chase smirked. "It's good for you."

"Sure. So, my Nana's really excited to meet you," he added, "tomorrow at the party."

"Right," Chase said, remembering in a rush. "The party! That's nice. I'm excited to meet her as well."

"You guys bringing Joe?"

His usage of the phrase "you guys" made her and Tuck sound like the couple they weren't. "If that's Tuck's plan," she mumbled, turning back to her laptop. "You'd have to ask him."

"You guys are lame," FDR announced, rising from her desk. "You're not fooling anyone. And by anyone, I mean me." He winked at her. "See ya tomorrow."

She watched him walk off, feeling like he'd just gotten the better of her. "Fooling anyone," she huffed out loud to herself. "Whatever that means."

"Reduced to talking to yourself now, are you?" a smoothly accented voice met her ears, and she turned her head again. Tuck smiled down at her, folding his arms.

"Something like that," she muttered.

"Well, are you ready to go? It's time to get Joe."

"Sure." She rose from her chair and packed up her things, leaving her laptop out and her earbuds plugged in. Tuck watched her as she placed an earbud in one ear and followed him out. He smirked at her.

"Don't you have any faith in our agents?" he said in mock-chiding tone. "Don't you think they can handle the monitoring?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Yes. I just want to make sure they're doing it right."

He burst out laughing, shaking his head. "You are –"

"If you call me a control freak, I will punch you," she cautioned. They reached his truck and she reached for the door handle, jumping slightly when Tuck beat her to it and opened the door for her, smirking.

"You forget I do this?" he asked, seeming to enjoy her surprise. She climbed into the truck.

"Uh, yeah," she replied. He chuckled and shut her door, coming around to his own side.

They fetched Joe from school, who was doubly excited about not only getting to hang out with his dad for a couple nights but also with Chase. She asked him if she was going to be intruding on their fun, to which the small boy devoted at least thirty seconds to deciding on his answer. It was only after Chase promised him a few rounds of Mortal Kombat that he agreed to permit her to partake in their activities. Their next stop was a grocery store near Tuck's apartment, where Joe picked out ground hamburger, Italian sausage, pepperoni and various other toppings for the pizza. When they arrived back at Tuck's apartment, he immediately wanted his father to play against him in some video games.

"Are you sure you can manage this?" Tuck asked, laughing as Joe tugged his arm anxiously. He had shown Chase where all of his utensils, pots and pans were.

She smiled at the impatient boy. "Yes, I got it. You better go before he breaks your arm."

She made the sauce, letting it simmer on the stove while she prepared the other ingredients. She chopped vegetables, grated a variety of cheeses, and prepared the dough, listening as father and son cheered and whooped through their games. She grinned to herself as she poured some olive oil in a pan and prepared to cook the ground hamburger. She added some seasonings and gave it a stir as Tuck entered the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to get a beer for himself and a bottle of juice for Joe. She glanced at him over her shoulder, shooting a him a quick smile before turning back to her pan. Joe was cheering himself on as he temporarily took over the game by himself.

Suddenly she felt warm breath on her neck as Tuck's body pressed against her back. Her heart jumped into her throat when she felt him lean over her shoulder and gently brush the hinge of her jaw with his lips as he spoke, low and soft, into her ear.

"Smells good," he murmured, his other hand coming to rest lightly on her hip. He inhaled against her hair and she knew he wasn't talking about the meat. The vibrations his voice sent over her skin as he spoke into it sent ripples of desire flaring out over her, electricity buzzing straight down her body, landing right between her legs. His hand tightened on her hip for a brief second before relaxing and releasing from her.

"Thanks," she squeaked, glancing at him over her shoulder. He backed out of the kitchen, locking eyes with her, smiling slightly as he lifted his bottle to his lips. He rejoined his son, and Chase stared after him dumbly, unable to do anything but stand there and want him for a moment. A slight burning smell met her nose and she quickly shifted her attention back to her task, shuffling the meat around quickly before it really burned. She cursed herself for being so obvious. She wasn't supposed to want him, she was supposed to be professional.

_Get your head out of your ass,_ she chided herself. _This is a temporary situation_.

:O:O:O:

After twenty rounds of Mortal Kombat and two and-a-half pizzas, Joe finally fell asleep in an exhausted heap on the couch. Chase was exhausted herself; Joe's energy had been seemingly limitless there for a while. She rose to collect their dishes and trash. Tuck got up after her.

"I'll give you a hand," he said quietly. He helped her clean up quickly, urging her to leave the dishes for tomorrow morning. They needed to be up and out in order to drop Joe off at karate by nine. After they dropped him off, they'd go return her rental.

"Where's he sleeping?" Chase asked Tuck quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy. "I can move to the couch upstairs…"

"No, that's ok," Tuck said. "When I have him for just a weekend, we always sleep down here in the living room anyway. He likes to feel like we're 'camping out'."

"That's cute," Chase said with a smile. "Well, you guys will need pillows and stuff." She led him upstairs to the loft and opened the storage closet he had shown her to get out extra pillows and blankets. She had an armful of bedding and pillows when she backed away from the open closet door, trying not trip over herself.

"Hope all of this will be enough –" she started, jumping when Tuck's hand slipped over her shoulder to press the door shut. She turned around to face him, and all of the bedding fell from her arms when he advanced on her, pushing her back against the closet door with just his body, his hands coming up to rest against the door on either side of her.

"Tuck," she breathed, unable to look away from his lips. His tongue swept out over his bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth, as he stared at her, his bright blue eyes smoldering. His gaze pulled from her eyes to her mouth, fastening there. Her hands came up to either side of his torso, fisting into the dark gray T-shirt he'd changed into.

He dipped his head, his parted lips landing lightly on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He slid his lips, not kissing her, up the side of her neck, inhaling her scent as he went. She was outright shaking, and jumped again when she felt his lips press against the pulse in her throat, under her jaw. She was slightly embarrassed, knowing it had to be pounding and racing under the tender skin there. He moved to the other side of her throat, his lips falling on that pulse as he pressed his body against hers. Her eyes flew open when he moved his hips against hers and she felt his hard, thick erection pressing against her. She whimpered softly as her eyes fell slightly shut.

His lips followed along her jawline, stopping to press tenderly into her chin before he pulled away. She opened her eyes and looked up into his as one of his hands came away from the wall to slide under her hair, the thick strands flowing between his fingers. His eyeline dropped to her mouth and he slowly lowered his head to hers. She was practically panting, so badly did she want to feel his mouth on her mouth, his tongue against her tongue. His lips had just brushed hers, ever so lightly, when –

"Dad?" Joe's sleepy voice floated over the loft wall. "Dad? Where are you? I'm cold."

Tuck sighed softly. "I'm coming, son," he called back. He turned his gaze back to Chase, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. He half-smiled at her, struggling to get his own heart rate and breathing under control.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She shook her head rapidly, bending slightly to retrieve the blankets and pillows she'd dropped.

"Don't be," she said softly, handing him the bundles of bedding. She gave him her own half-smile. "He needs you." She glanced over his shoulder. "Good night, Joe," she called louder.

"G'night," the little boy called back sleepily after a long pause.

Tuck's hand grazed hers as he took the bedding from her, his fingers lingering on her fingers in a light stroke. "Good night, Chase," he said, staring into her smoky eyes.

"Good night," she replied, suppressing a shiver under the intensity of his gaze. "Sweet dreams."

"Indeed," he said with another gentle smile, backing away to go to his son.

Chase walked into his bedroom and shut the door, and fell directly onto her face in his bed. "Holy shit," she murmured to herself into the pillows, her heart still racing. "Holy. Shit."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note - Hey all! Thanks for your patience while I was gone! I'm back now with another chapter so please read, review, and enjoy. THANKS SO MUCH to those of you who have reviewed and followed - it is MUCH, MUCH appreciated. **

**Chapter 17**

"All right, son," Tuck said, walking Joe to the door of his karate school the next morning. "Have fun, learn something, and please try not to break Jakob's father's finger this time."

"Well, he kept yelling 'Pain is just weakness leaving the body' so I wanted to see how strong _he_ really was," the little boy replied seriously. Chase trailed along behind father and son and snorted with laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth when Tuck gave her a disapproving look over his shoulder.

"What?" she asked defensively, unable to bite back a grin. "That is _totally _legit."

"Don't listen to her," Tuck said to Joe, before patting his shoulder and pushing him along. "Have fun."

Tuck turned back to Chase, his blue eyes glinting merrily at her. He couldn't hold back a chuckle. "That _was _actually awesome."

She joined in his laughter, too. "I would have turned over a few United States secrets to see that one," she said wistfully.

He smirked and shook his head. "C'mon, let's get that rental of yours returned," he said, glancing at her white vehicle.

She followed him to the car rental company, immediately putting an earbud into her ear as soon as she slipped behind the wheel. She'd been spending any free moments listening to the feed, so often that she'd gotten one of the tech nerds at the office to make her a special phone app that would run the feed so she didn't have to carry her laptop everywhere. It was incredibly useful and convenient. So far, she'd heard nothing about the meeting place or time in Vegas next week, and she'd heard no references to herself either. She assumed that meant that Andrei was keeping her all to himself. In all likelihood, whichever goons he had sent to the bed and breakfast the other night probably hadn't even known why Andrei had taken a special interest in her in particular. She couldn't be sure though, although she _was_ sure he didn't know his deli had been bugged, and he didn't know who Tuck was, at least not now. However, the longer she kept this rental, the shorter that would remain as such.

She stepped out of the car, grabbing her things and the keys. Tuck hopped out and lounged against his truck, reaching out for her satchel containing her laptop when she handed it to him.

"I'll be right out," she said, walking past him to head inside. After she completed the return paperwork she walked back outside and hopped into his truck.

"Well," she said lightly, folding her hands in her lap. "Joe's practice isn't over for another couple hours. What shall we do in the meantime?"

She met his eyes and felt her face heating up. She absolutely hated the effect that Tuck had on her. This morning he'd acted like nothing had happened between them last night, but she knew he didn't really have a choice since they'd been with Joe all morning. Still, she hadn't missed the way his eyes kept going over her, smoldering, making her feel eagerly nervous to be alone with him. She had to laugh ruefully at her own awkwardness. _Put a gun in my hand, put some bad guys in front of me, I don't bat an eye_, she thought wryly. _Put me in close quarters with a gorgeous Englishman and I lose my mind and revert back to fourteen._

He gave her an easy smile, his arm stretched casually over the top of the truck's seat. "I actually do have an idea," he said. "It's kind of a chore but hopefully you won't think it's too weird."

"What's that?" she asked. "Now I'm all curious."

"Get Frank and Lauren a wedding present," he said. "I haven't got them anything yet and, well, the rehearsal dinner is this evening."

"That's a good idea," she agreed. "Do you happen to know where they're registered?"

"Registered?" he repeated, frowning.

"Yeah, like at a store," Chase said slowly. "You've been married; where do you think all of your gifts came from?"

"It wasn't quite like that," Tuck replied quietly. "Not for us. We didn't have a wedding in the traditional sense. We'd already been living together and found out we were pregnant. So we went down to the courthouse to get married fast."

"Oh," Chase said awkwardly. "Sorry. I made an assumption. Of course, not everyone does the same things." She paused and cleared her throat, casting about for a change in topic. "Hey, Lauren and FDR already live together, right?"

"Yes, they do," Tuck replied.

"So, they probably have everything they need already. What about –" She paused, thinking. "What about making a donation in their name to some charity that they both like or support?"

"Hmm," Tuck said, the noise rumbling deeply in his throat. He rubbed the light scruff on his chin in thought. "That's actually a pretty fantastic idea."

Chase beamed. "You can put the certificate in a nice frame. What kinds of causes or organizations do they like?"

"They sort of bonded over a dog rescue when they got together," he said, smirking at the memory. "It's one of her passions. That might be the perfect gift." He shifted his eyes over to her and smiled. "Thank you. I don't think that ever would have occurred to me." His hand moved from the seat to her hair and his fingers toyed gently with the long, thick wavy strands. She offered him a shy smile. As always, his touch sent her into a tailspin of sensations, her synapses leaping and jumping every time his fingers made contact with her.

"We should get going," he said lightly, pulling his hand back and starting the engine. He flashed her a half-smile, his eyes running down her frame before pulling off.

They drove to the dog rescue center and Tuck made the donation in their names. The manager of the shelter drew up a special certificate for them and placed it in an envelope. They had just enough time to go to a special housewares boutique not far from Joe's karate school to pick out a nice frame, which Chase suggested Tuck have engraved, and then set about to picking up the tired boy from his class. They stopped to pick up lunch and then headed back to Tuck's place.

"I'm going to do some work upstairs," Chase said to Tuck as he arranged Joe's lunch on a plate. "Surveillance feed. What time are we leaving for Nana's?"

"About six," Tuck replied. "I can help you with the feed."

"No, no," Chase said, accepting her plate from him. "Stay with Joe, you won't see him all week. I've got it. It's easier for one person to listen in with earbuds anyway."

"If you're sure," Tuck said doubtfully.

"Yes. Very sure."

"Control freak," he teased, smiling at her. She stuck her tongue out at him and waved at Joe before heading upstairs. She spent the next several hours listening intently to the feed, lying on the couch in the loft area with her earbuds in. Intermittently she would hear something of potential interest and jot it down. She was pleased to see that she was getting corresponding emails from the team back at the field office whenever she heard something that could be important; it showed that they were awake and paying attention, and most importantly, following her directive.

She rolled onto her back, moving her phone to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. There would often be long bouts of silence from the deli when business was slow. Sometimes whoever was working would watch TV, or remain totally silent. There had been no more meetings since the one two nights ago. Often, the only chatter that was picked up was between the shop proprietors and the customers.

Currently, all she could hear was background noise of a TV or radio and that was it. Gradually, her eyes started to close as sleepiness overtook her. She tried to fight it, but eventually, the need for rest won and she slipped under a warm blanket of repose.

A short time later, she jerked awake, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She'd unconsciously registered something brushing against her face; specifically, her mouth. She blinked and saw Tuck straightening into a standing position, a grin on his face. Her breath caught in her chest when she realized he was shirtless, water glistening in his hair and on his body from the shower he'd apparently just taken. _He just kissed me_, she thought. She knew it had just been a chaste peck, but still…

"Sorry," he said, still grinning. "I couldn't resist. You looked so peaceful. I snuck up here to shower and get some clothes, but if you need the bedroom I'm done now."

"Uh-huh," she managed, her eyes glued to his torso. She'd known he had to be fantastic under his clothes, but she didn't know it was _this _fantastic. He was lean but solid, with well-defined pectoral muscles and abs, and his torso was littered with various tattoos.

"You're staring, love," he said, a hint of a chuckle pulling at his voice.

"What?" she asked, finally glancing up at his face. She shook her head quickly. "I mean, no. I wasn't. I was…I was trying to see what your tattoos were of." She pulled the earbuds from her ears and rose from the couch. She brushed past him, reddening, embarrassed at being so obvious and moreover, at having him point it out. "I need to get ready."

"Please do," he replied, still smirking. Before she shut his door, she glanced at him over her shoulder and his smirk stretched into a full-mouthed smile before he walked down the stairs.

:O:O:O:

Tuck helped Joe into his little sports coat, straightening it. It certainly wasn't necessary for the somewhat casual get-together at Nana's, but the little boy had insisted on wearing one to be like his dad. Tuck himself wore a light gray suit that had a slightly metallic sheen to it with a light blue button-down shirt. He skipped a tie and left the top couple buttons undone. Joe had wanted to wear something similar and opted for a black suit with a crisp white shirt.

"Is she ready yet?" Joe asked, clutching the flat gift box that Chase had wrapped neatly and tied with a bow. It contained the framed certificate of the donation to the dog rescue Tuck had made on their behalf. A card had been wedged in between the ribbon and the paper.

Tuck glanced at his watch; they should have been out the door ten minutes ago. "I hope so," he said. He took a step toward the staircase, intending to go knock on the bedroom door to see if she was almost ready, when he heard the door open and shut. He stayed put instead, his eyes on the staircase, anticipating her appearance.

His breath caught slightly in his throat when she finally appeared. She looked perfectly lovely and the shy smile she gave him made his heart jerk oddly. She wore a knee-length pencil skirt made of cream lace, and a mint green sheer blouse with delicate, short puffed sleeves tucked neatly into the waistband. The colors set her bronzed skin off to perfection and complemented the pair of cream suede pumps threaded with gold on her feet. She carried a large, camel-colored clutch purse under one arm and she wore a simple pair of gold studs and a delicate gold bracelet on one wrist. Her long dark hair had been tamed and coaxed into large waves that brought to mind the old Hollywood starlets of the 1940s. A tiny white rose was tucked behind one ear.

"You look pretty, Chase," Joe said shyly.

"Indeed you do," Tuck agreed, his voice slightly hoarse.

Chase smiled and leaned over to kiss Joe's cheek. "Ew," the little boy said, wiping off his cheek. Chase laughed and reached out to wipe off the tiny bit of lip gloss she'd left there.

"You say 'ew' now," she said, lifting a brow at him, "but in a few years you'll be chasing girls all over the place for a kiss."

"Gross," Joe said scornfully. "That will never happen. Come on, you guys!" He turned and scurried off for the door. Chase made to follow him but Tuck reached out and clasped her wrist. She turned and looked at him curiously.

"You look beautiful," he said earnestly. "You're really quite breathtaking at the moment."

"Just at the moment?" she teased, but her eyes sparkled with appreciation at his words.

"Well, I have grown fond of the mussed morning bedhead," he teased back. He ran a finger over one smooth, styled wave, stopping to lightly tough the rose behind her ear. It was real. "Will this one find its way into my shirt at the end of the night, as well?"

"Only if you're nice," she shot back. She took his hand, surprising him. Usually, it was him initiating the touches. "Let's go, Tuck. We're going to be late."

:O:O:O:

They were the last to arrive at the party, but it hadn't quite yet reached full-swing. Lauren was absolutely radiant in a short, white spring dress and FDR couldn't seem to stop either smiling or touching her. Chase saw Trish and Bob, a couple that had to be Lauren's parents, and Nana and her husband, as well as a few other family members from both their sides of the family including a few children. One of the children, a boy, had a bucket over his head and was running around the yard.

"What –" Chase started, pointing.

"One of FDR's relations," Tuck assured her, his hand at the small of her back as he ushered her across the spacious lawn.

She took in the gorgeous, simple decorations. The white trellises were covered both in ivy and white Christmas lights, glowing softly in the early evening light. There were several picnic tables, covered with white linens, dotted around the grass. Tuck led Chase and Joe to the family matriarch.

"Nana," he said, embracing the elderly woman. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and her eyes lit on Chase curiously, but first she addressed the small boy in front of her.

"My Joe!" she exclaimed, hugging him tight. "Well, you've grown since last weekend, haven't you?"

"Probably," the boy replied seriously. "I've been drinking a lot more milk. I heard it's very good for you."

The adults laughed as Nana also gave him a kiss. She sent him off to play with some of the other children and straightened, turning a charming smile on Chase.

"And who is this exquisite young woman?" she asked Tuck without taking her eyes from Chase. Chase smiled and extended her hand, gently shaking the elderly woman's hand.

"This is Chase Moreno," Tuck said, smiling at Chase from Nana's side. "She's a work colleague of mine."

"Oh?" Nana asked. "You also work for the agency?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chase answered politely. "Tuck and FDR and I have been working together for a little over a week a now."

"She's absolutely invaluable to our case," Tuck said genuinely.

"Running circles around my boys, are you?" Nana asked with a knowing smile.

"Not at all," Chase said modestly. "Well, maybe a little." She grinned and Nana laughed outright. The elderly woman reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

"That's exactly what I like to hear. Come, dear. I'll introduce you to everyone."

"What about me?" Tuck asked, feigning hurt.

"Go keep the groom company," Nana said, waving him off. She led Chase around the backyard, introducing her to every single person there as "Tuck's better half." Chase met both the soon-to-be married couple's family. Some of them were coming to Vegas, like Lauren's parents and of course Nana and her husband.

When the introductions were made, Nana began leading Chase back toward the table where Tuck, FDR and Lauren were laughing at something. Tuck glanced over, catching Chase's eye and smiled, his gaze locking onto hers for a long moment before he turned back to the couple.

"Nana," Chase said. "Thanks for introducing me to everyone. But…I'm afraid they have the wrong idea about me and Tuck."

"What's that?" Nana asked, turning to look at her in surprise.

"Well, you called me his 'better half.' We're just work colleagues, like he said. We're not…like that."

"Nonsense," Nana said dismissively. "I've noticed the way he looks at you. He never even looked at Katie the way he looks at you. Off you go, now." She gave Chase a gentle push in Tuck's direction and turned to address her guests.

"Dear family," she called, smiling. "Old friends and new. Thank you for joining us this evening for a special family get-together as we celebrate the marriage between my grandson, Franklin and his lovely bride-to-be, Lauren Scott. Tonight we'll celebrate their love, their new life ahead and make a few more memories for the books." She smiled as the group erupted into whoops and cheers and applause and FDR dramatically bent Lauren backward and kissed her. "The buffet is ready," Nana added, to more applause. "Help yourselves!"

Chase found herself having an absolute ball; FDR and Lauren had lively families and it reminded her of her family's reunions. Between her Spanish and Italian sides, there was never a shortage on amusement, and this prenuptial dinner was starting to rival even those crazy get-togethers.

"Having a nice time?" Tuck asked in her ear. He was seated next to her at a round table with Lauren, FDR, Trish and Bob. His arm was stretched across the back of her chair. He smiled as she turned sparkling eyes toward him, her lips pulled back in a wide smile.

"Very nice time," she answered back softly. One hand played at the base of her wine glass; the other was in her lap. Boldly, he removed his arm from the back of her chair and scooped up her hand, briefly bringing her fingers to his lips before replacing her hand back in her lap. He never took his eyes from hers and her smoky blue-gray eyes registered surprise, but her smile never wavered. Her cheeks flushed rosily as she looked away from him.

"Chase, you got your ticket booked, right?" Lauren asked, concern creasing her voice. "I know it was short notice."

"Yes," Chase replied. "I won't be sitting with you but I got one of the last seats on your flight."

"Well, lucky it's just about an hour flight," FDR said. "Then we party!" He dipped his head to kiss Lauren for the thousandth time that night.

"And the room situation?" Trish chimed in. "Will be what exactly? Because Bob and I can't have any roommates." She exchanged a pointed look with Chase.

She laughed. "Nor would I want to room with you two, I promise," she said wryly. "I think Lauren and FDR got an adjoined suite at the Venetian. So up until the wedding, she and I will be staying together and Tuck and FDR will be staying together. Then we'll – we'll switch, I guess, after the wedding." She glanced at Tuck, suddenly realizing that meant that they'd be bunking up yet again. "I guess I hadn't thought of that. We – we can work something out. See about a different room or something."

There were knowing snickers around the table and Chase's annoying blush reflex kicked in again. She was thankful that it was finally dark and that her rosy cheeks couldn't be seen in the glow of the candles and the white lights on the trellises.

"I'll be right back," she said, rising from her chair. She crossed the lawn to the house and as the back patio door was open, a silent invitation for the guests, she opened the screen door and stepped inside the kitchen.

Nana was at the counter, filling a large silver tray with champagne flutes. A few large bottles of champagne had been opened and were waiting to be poured.

"Hi, Nana," Chase said.

The elderly woman snapped around, smiling when she saw her. "Hi, dear. Bathroom is around the corner, third door on the left."

"Thanks," Chase said with a smile, heading in that direction. When she emerged, Nana was still fussing with the glasses, now setting to the task of pouring the bubbly in each flute. "Need some help?"

"Well, you know," Nana said, setting the bottle down. "My hands are a little trembly. Could you refill the rest of these glasses and help me carry them outside? I need to go freshen up for a moment and get Lauren and FDR's gift."

"Sure, it would be my pleasure," Chase replied, stepping forward. Nana patted her shoulder.

"I'll be a moment," she said, then disappeared into the house. Chase lifted a bottle and began to pour out equal amounts. She heard footsteps behind her and turned, seeing Tuck. He'd shucked his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Put you to work already, has she?" he teased, smirking.

She smiled back. "I offered," she said. She finished filling the glasses and set the empty bottle down. "You can use those big muscles of yours and carry this outside for me."

"You've been looking at my muscles, have you?" he asked, stepping forward.

"No," she said firmly. She turned to face him, leaning against the sink and bringing her hands to rest on the edge of it. A little smile tugged at her lips. "All right. Maybe a little. But only because you put them in my face."

"I didn't," he replied. "I was minding my own business and you woke up and saw them."

"Wha –" she spluttered indignantly. "You – you _kissed _me! _You _disturbed my sleep to make me look at them."

"I woke you gently so as not to frighten you," he corrected, grinning, enjoying their banter. "You needed to wake up and get ready for this evening anyway."

"You're so full of shit," she said with a half-chuckle.

"As are you," he replied. "Comes with the job."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You know as well as I do that you put them in my face, and that's that."

"That wasn't putting anything in your face," he said, holding up a finger.

"Sure it was," she said.

"No," he said, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her against the edge of the sink. She let out a quick breath as he brought his face next to hers. Her lips parted as her eyes locked onto his mouth. "_This_ is putting something in your face," he murmured. His lips parted slightly and he brought his face to hers, enjoying the way her breathing increased slightly, but she didn't move away. He brushed his lips against hers ever so slightly, not kissing her. Her head followed his movements and he continued to tease her lips with his own without kissing her; he smiled when she got frustrated and leaned in fast, trying to catch his lips with her own. He pulled his head back at the last second, laughing at her involuntary growl of frustration.

"Tease," she whispered, her small hand fisting into the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. He was surprised and pleased with her forwardness. Even if it was wine-induced, he'd take it. She leaned back, pulling him toward her, and he leaned into her, his hands finding her hips and squeezing when he felt her other hand slide up to his shoulder to grip the side of his neck. He leaned his forehead against hers, trying to draw out the delicious anticipation of their lips meeting. He felt her warm breath huff in short, hard little breaths against his lips. His fingertips dug into her hips and he finally gave her what she wanted, tilting his head slightly to take her lips full-on this time. His lips had just closed around her bottom lip and she'd just started to open her lips for him when they heard someone clear their throat loudly behind them.

Tuck whipped around and sheepishly met Nana's eyes, bright with amusement and interest. "Sorry to interrupt," she said smoothly, as though they'd just been chatting. She held a large box in her hands, wrapped with white paper and tied with a light blue bow. "Please carry the champagne outside for me, Tuck."

"Yes, Nana," Tuck said, and took the tray. He glanced at Chase who was, as usual, blushing. Her eyes met his and he almost dropped the tray at their expression; they were dark and smoldering with want. He half-smiled at her. _Later,_ he silently promised her, and himself. _Later._


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note - Thanks for your support guys! Keep the reviews a-comin'. Thanks!**

**Chapter 18**

The party wound down when the children started falling asleep, even Buckethead, who finally had lain down in the grass and stopped moving.

Tuck carried his sleeping son draped over one shoulder as FDR walked with him back to his truck. Chase was inside the house, saying her goodbyes to everyone.

"So, you ready for all this, mate?" Tuck asked FDR with a grin as he gently loaded Joe into the backseat.

FDR smiled. "If you would have asked me this, say, nine months ago I'd have said hell, no. But now…" He trailed off, glancing toward the house. "Definitely."

"Good," Tuck replied, reaching out to grasp his best friend's shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm glad to see it. You're a lucky man."

"Why do you think it didn't work out for you and Katie?" FDR asked him quietly.

Tuck sighed. "It's hard to pick just one thing. We didn't get married for the right reasons; we got married out of obligation. I never felt for Katie quite what it is you and Lauren feel for each other. I loved her, but it was more because I felt like I was _supposed _to love her – we'd just had a child together. Then, she never knew about my job. I never felt like she really knew _me._ You have to have someone you can be yourself around. Lauren accepts everything about you. That's the sort of person you have to be with. Anyone has to be with." His gaze caught movement toward the front of the house, seeing Chase emerge and stroll down the gravel path toward them. FDR followed his gaze and smiled.

"It seems like you found that sort of person," he said lightly.

Tuck smirked. "Maybe, but only because we have the same job," he replied.

"I don't know," FDR said. "She seems pretty cool, all things considered. Despite the fact that she's a raging control freak, she's pretty solid. And Joe seems to adore her."

"He does," Tuck sighed. "That's what worries me. When this case is wrapped and she goes back to New York, what do I tell him?"

"Maybe she doesn't have to go back to New York right away," FDR pointed out. "Or you can take Joe out there to visit. Speaking of visits," FDR continued, noting the shadow that passed over his friend's face and changing the subject abruptly, "don't worry about the room situation in Vegas, man." Tuck looked at him questioningly. "You know, the you-two-sharing-a-suite thing. You guys don't have to share – I didn't tell Lauren this, because it's supposed to be a surprise, but I actually got the honeymoon suite at the Venetian for the night of our wedding through the rest of our stay. So you and Chase can each take a room."

"How very romantic of you," Tuck said. "Honeymoon suite, eh?"

"Definitely cracked the account," FDR admitted. "But she's worth it."

"Your grandma is officially the best," Chase announced, finally reaching them and clapping a hand down onto FDR's shoulder.

"I know," FDR said, wincing slightly at the impact. "She sure seems to like you."

"The feeling is most definitely mutual. And that lady can _drink. _Jeez." Chase smiled and teetered slightly in her heels, and Tuck suppressed a laugh. Nana _could _drink and had easily drunk the younger women under the table.

"Let me help you into your chariot, mademoiselle," he said sarcastically, taking her hand. "Before you faceplant into the gravel here."

"Thank you, manservant," she replied, allowing him to take her hand and help her inside.

"You guys be safe," FDR said, clapping Tuck's shoulder. "We'll see you at the airport tomorrow at four."

"Indeed," Tuck replied. "Looking forward to it, mate!"

:O:O:O:

Joe woke up just as Tuck was pulling into his garage and challenged his father to a late, Saturday night video game playoff.

"What do you say?" Tuck said to Chase.

"Yeah, what do you say?" Joe repeated.

"Sure," Chase said with a smile. "I've got some time to kick both your butts." She glanced at Joe pointedly. "Provided the little squirt here doesn't fall asleep first."

"Not on your life," the boy replied.

Once inside, Chase excused herself to change out of her dressy clothes. "I'm going to go put my battle armor on," she said to Joe, "and I'll be right back to beat you into submission. Don't start losing without me first."

"Then you better hurry up," Joe shot back. "Although if you took your time I wouldn't blame you, I wouldn't want to rush into a beatdown either!"

"You wish, kid," Chase called from the top of the stairs.

"Go change," Tuck said, tossing Joe his pajamas and pointing toward the first floor bathroom. "Your mother will throw a fit if you ruin that suit."

"All the more reason to do it," Joe replied, but obediently headed into the bathroom anyway.

Tuck headed for the stairs and took them two at a time, anxious to put his own sweats on. His bedroom door was open, so he rapped on the doorframe and stuck his head in. His bathroom door was shut and over the sound of running water he could hear Chase humming to herself. He decided not to bother her and went for his closet, grabbing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He was backing out and shutting the door when the bathroom door opened and Chase emerged. Her blouse was untucked and unbuttoned down to her navel, her shoes in her hand. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him and her hand immediately went to clutch the edges of her top together.

"Sorry," Tuck apologized hastily, ripping his eyes from the flash of her lacy nude bra and her nicely rounded breasts. "I just came up to get some sweats. Didn't mean to startle you."

She had dropped her shoes and buttoned one button over her chest. "It's all right," she said with a shake of her head and a quick laugh. "This _is _your bedroom and your loft, after all." She stepped past him and smiled, reaching for one of her bags and pulling out a loose casual top and black yoga pants.

Tuck moved to clear out, then stopped and glanced at her. He reached out and touched the tiny white rose that was still behind her ear. "Apparently I wasn't nice enough to earn that this evening, was I?"

Her hand flew to the rose. "I forgot I still had this in." She reached up and pulled out a bobby pin from behind her ear where it secured the stem in her hair, then removed the flower.

"Where did you even get that?" Tuck asked. "I can tell it's real."

"I picked it when we were out earlier," Chase replied, twirling the now slightly battered rose in her fingers. "We passed a tuberose bush and I snapped one off."

"Very enterprising of you," Tuck said with a smirk. She reached out and slipped the tuberose into the top buttonhole of his dress shirt.

"I suppose you earned it," she said, smiling but shyly not meeting his eyes. "Even though you weren't very nice to me in Nana's kitchen."

"Wasn't I?" he replied. "I thought I was very nice to you in Nana's kitchen."

"You weren't," she shot back. "You were a total tease."

"I thought that's what made me nice," he joked, but his voice had involuntarily lowered and grown husky when she rested her hands lightly on his chest.

"No," she whispered, tilting her face up to his slightly though her eyes remained on his mouth. "It makes you mean." His face tilted down toward hers, the distance between them closing rapidly.

"Mean?" he murmured back, his hands dropping his clothing to the floor and coming to her waist.

"Mean," she repeated. Her fingers closed around the lapels of his shirt and she pressed up on her toes. Without her tall heels on, he had forgotten how much shorter than he she really was. Her lips barely brushed his as she continued. "I don't like to be left hanging."

With a soft, low groan rumbling deep in his chest, Tuck closed the rest of the distance between them and hungrily took her lips in his, his fingers tightening on her waist. She pressed her body against his, one hand still gripping a lapel while the other wrapped around the back of his neck to entice him to come even closer. He pressed one hand to the small of her back while the other slipped up into her hair. He loved her hair; it was smooth and silky, yet the strands were thick and supple without being coarse.

Chase tilted her head slightly and leisurely ran the tip of her tongue over the seam of his lips. He took her hint and opened his mouth, and was soon rewarded with the feeling of her smooth, delicate tongue invading his mouth to find his. She let out a satisfied "_mmm"_ when he gave her his tongue, sliding and twisting it slowly around hers, tasting her mouth and loving it. Her teeth nipped gently at his bottom lip and he gave it right back to her, nibbling teasingly before giving her his lips again. She took them eagerly, both of her hands gripping the back of his neck as her lips moved slowly and deeply with his.

He sincerely hoped she was relishing this as much as he was; he realized this was their first real kiss without the excuse of alcohol or cover from an enemy; she had made it clear she wanted it as much as he did and they were indulging themselves openly and honestly.

He gradually became aware that they were moving; she was taking backward steps and he was shuffling forward slightly, until the edge of his bed hit her backside. The slight impact seemed to jar them both slightly, and Tuck realized he'd been intending to push her down on it when one thought went through him – _Joe._

Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes, seeing the same realization and wistfulness he felt.

"I quite forgot myself," he murmured. "And Joe."

"Yeah, we shouldn't keep him waiting," she replied. Her hands slid from his neck to his chest and she pressed on it lightly. "I'll change and be right down."

He stepped away, intending to leave the room, but as an afterthought, he turned back and grabbed her wrist. He hauled her in close and kissed her again, slowly, looking into her face as her eyes fluttered shut. He pulled away and smiled, then left her to change her clothes.

:O:O:O:

Joe lasted only thirteen rounds of Mortal Kombat this time; he fell asleep against his father with his controller still in his hand.

Chase grinned and stood, reaching out to carefully pluck the controller from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Joe didn't open his eyes but instead snuggled closer to his father's chest, mumbling in his sleep before falling silent and still again.

"I think I'll follow suit and turn in myself," Chase said, reaching for a blanket and pulling it over Tuck and Joe. He nodded and started to disentangle himself from Joe to stand, but Chase held her hand up. "No, stay. He's comfortable."

Tuck smiled at her and nodded. As she passed behind the couch to head for the stairs, he reached out and caught her wrist again.

"I don't think that's the proper way to bid a lad goodnight when you're staying in his home," he teased with a smile.

Chase lifted an eyebrow. "Is that right? And what did you have in mind?"

He tugged her wrist gently until she leaned down over him, the curtain of her dark, wavy hair spilling over his chest. He stretched his neck up slightly and kissed her moist, parted lips. Mindful of his son asleep against his chest, he resisted the urge to seek out her tongue with his and pulled away from her gently, running his thumb down her throat as she stepped back.

"That's better," he said. "You'd do well to keep in mind the way to say goodnight properly."

She grinned at him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "I will keep that in mind." Her fingers trailed from his as she backed toward the stairs. "Sweet dreams, Tuck."

"And to you," he replied, indulging in the pleasure of watching her walk up the stairs. He heard his bedroom door shut behind her and he leaned his head back, unable to keep the smile off his face.

:O:O:O:

The next morning, Tuck let Joe sleep in while he and Chase packed bags for Vegas. He had only been there a few times for leisure purposes, but he'd been there several more times for business. In his experience, "Sin City" was the perfect nickname for that desert paradise.

He packed casual clothes with just a couple of dressier items; he knew he'd be getting fit for a tux on Monday with FDR for the wedding. It was to be a very small ceremony; he would stand up for FDR and Trish would stand up for Lauren. Her parents and Nana and her husband would be there as well.

"So, best man," Chase said, zipping up her suitcase. "What sort of depravity do you have planned for FDR's last night as a free man?"

Tuck grinned. "Actually, Lauren and FDR wanted to have a group bachelor/bachelorette outing, for your information."

"How contemporary of them," Chase replied. "Where is this to be held?"

"It'll be in two parts. Tomorrow they want to have a fancy dinner with the parents and grandparents, and then on Tuesday they want to go to –" he paused, clearing his throat. "They want to go to a strip club, actually."

"Wow," Chase said, seeming impressed. "I didn't know Lauren was the type."

"Yes, apparently so. Try to restrain yourself from jumping on the stage."

"Hey," Chase said, whirling to face him. "Screw you. I got the job done."

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" Tuck asked. He'd been curious for a long time but now seemed as opportune a moment to ask as he was going to get.

"I used to go-go dance when I was in college," Chase replied. "All the hot clubs in New York. And well, before that, I danced throughout my childhood and teenage years. Ballet, jazz, modern, that sort of thing. Wanted to go pro, but changed my mind."

"The glamour of federal agency came calling?" Tuck replied, smiling.

She smirked. "I did want to be a cop for a while. I have law enforcement in the family. I was always a little on the tough side. But my mother begged me not to. Her father was a cop and was killed in the line of duty, long before I was born, and she never quite got over that." She hauled her bags from the bed. "_Then _the glamour of federal agency came calling."

"Why the CIA?" Tuck asked.

"Well, if I couldn't _bust_ the bad guys, I wanted to at least be partly responsible for apprehending them," Chase answered. "Plus, you know as well as I do that only a certain type of person joins the CIA. There's something…thrilling about traveling the world undercover, knowing that if you're not on top of your shit every single second, it could mean failure or even death."

Tuck knew exactly what she meant, and he had to agree. He knew it was selfish of him, being that he was a father, but there _was _something exciting about covert missions, traveling the world, gathering intelligence. Though she could sometimes be bossy, petulant, and controlling, he sensed a kindred spirit in her that he could fully appreciate it.

They left their bags by the door and woke Joe, instructing him to get dressed and pack his bag. They were going to take him to brunch and then home to Katie, before returning to Tuck's apartment for their bags and taking a cab to the airport to meet Lauren and FDR. Her parents and FDR's grandparents had opted to drive in on Monday, wanting to spend some time together before the ceremony and let "the kids" have fun.

They dropped Joe at Katie's after a leisurely brunch near the beach. Katie came out and stood on the porch, watching as father swept son into a tight embrace.

"Be good for your mum," he said, pressing his lips to the boy's head before releasing him. Chase, leaning against the hood of his truck, tilted her head and smiled at the two. Katie had given her another curious but mostly friendly look when she'd gotten out of the truck, even lifting her hand in greeting. She looked as surprised as Chase felt when Joe rushed to her and threw his arms tightly around her waist.

"Bye, Chase," the boy said sweetly. "I had fun with you this weekend."

"I had fun with you, too, Squirt," she said, hugging him back. "And by the way, you owe me a rematch. You can't hide from me. I know where you live."

"Sore loser," he teased, but smiled. He waved at them before running to his mother and disappearing inside. She smiled after him, then turned to climb into the truck. Tuck was busying himself by playing with the radio, but Chase didn't miss the flash of melancholy on his face. She knew instantly what was wrong.

"It's always the hardest part, right?" she asked gently, smiling at him.

He met her gaze and shrugged. "It never gets easier. I hate saying goodbye to my son."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Did anyone ever tell you you're real cute when you're sensitive?" she teased with a smile.

He grinned at her and squeezed her hand back before placing it on the wheel. They drove back to his apartment and while he parked his truck and went inside to retrieve their bags, she called for a taxi to take them to the airport. They were lounging outside in the sunshine when her cell phone rang.

"It's the agency," she murmured to Tuck, looking down at the screen. "Moreno," she answered, her tone clipped.

"Agent Moreno," Bothwick's voice crackled over her phone.

"Agent Bothwick," she replied. "Talk to me."

"Uh, we had some information from the feed we wanted to share with you."

"Yes," Chase said eagerly. Tuck was watching her. "Do you have the location and time of the meet?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. But we have something else. From what we could decipher, it sounds like the lieutenants of the families are heading into Vegas ahead of the bosses. They plan to blow off some steam before the meeting and are going to all be in a special conference room within the Sapphire…uh…gentleman's club."

"A strip club?" she repeated, sighing. _Not again_. "When is this little business outing supposed to take place?"

"Monday night."

"And you're sure it's…Sapphire?"

"Yes. Positive. We even called and confirmed the reservation."

"All right," Chase said. "Thank you. Keep listening."

"OK," Bothwick replied. "Tell Tuck hi and that I miss him." Chase hung up on Bothwick, shaking her head.

"Good news?" Tuck asked.

"Sort of," Chase replied. "Looks like the lieutenants are going to blow off some steam at the Sapphire strip club tomorrow night. They've got a private room booked any everything." Her smoky eyes took on a far-off look. "If we can get in there, then maybe we can find out about the meeting. We need to infiltrate."

"I think you should be the dancer," Tuck joked. "Lingerie might look a little gauche on me."

"I was thinking more like cocktail waitress or something," Chase replied, still lost in thought. "Although I suppose if I have to hand out a few lap dances for information I can do that. Wouldn't be the first time."

Tuck shot her a look and she burst out laughing. "I'm kidding." He relaxed and shook his head glancing away. "Maybe."

Before he could comment, she rose. "Oh, look. There's our taxi. Let's go, Tuck!"

:O:O:O:

They arrived in Vegas shortly after seven that evening. Lauren and FDR had ordered a bottle of champagne, and the group of six proceeded to get nice and toasty before landing. They grabbed their bags and hailed a taxi and got to the Strip shortly before eight-thirty. They checked in at the Venetian, and when Chase finally saw their room, she was blown away.

"Wow," she said, turning circles. "I've been to Vegas plenty of times, but I've never before seen a room at the Venetian. Amazing."

The suite was a study in cream walls and warm sconce-lighting. There were two plush queen-size beds, glowing under covered sconce lights on the headboard. The bathroom was huge with a Roman-style glass shower. There were two flatscreen TVs – one on the wall in the bedroom and also one in the adjoined living room. The living featured a plush sectional couch and a glass-topped coffee table. There was also a fridge and a fully stocked mini-bar as well, which Lauren immediately dug into. She set to fixing two rum and Cokes, handing one to Chase when she was done.

Chase felt a little guilty; she, FDR and Tuck had agreed not to breathe a word about the mission to Lauren, not wanting to upset her or do anything to ruin the wedding or its festivities. She knew that while Lauren accepted what they did for a living, there was only so much she could deal with and Chase didn't think that during her wedding was the proper time or place to test that boundary. She just hoped that she could balance her business and personal lives on this one trip with a little bit of grace.

Lauren held up her glass. "To Vegas!" she exclaimed.

Chase clinked her glass against Lauren's. "To _you_," she corrected. "And FDR."

"To us!" Lauren repeated, laughing.

_To completing the mission, _Chase thought to herself, tipping her glass and taking the bubbly liquid into her mouth. The rum mixed with the champagne she'd had on the plane and together, combined with her empty stomach, evolved into a heady rush with each sip. She thought of Tuck. _To breaking any and all boundaries between professionalism and private life. _She smiled against her glass before draining the other half of it. The possibilities the thought brought were deliciously bad. _Here's to willpower…_


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note - hey y'all! Moving right along...thanks for hitting up the last chapter and hope you like this one. Read, review and enjoy!**

**Chapter 19**

"Rise and shine!"

Lauren's inappropriately chipper voice broke through Chase's alcohol-induced haze that passed for sleep. A sudden bright light assaulted her eyes and she buried her face in her pillow, yanking the thick down comforter over her head and groaning.

"Oh, God," she moaned. "You're one of those people."

The blankets were suddenly yanked back from her head. "Yes, I sure am," Lauren said with a smile.

"You drank more than I did," Chase complained, struggling into an upright position, bringing one trembling hand to shield her eyes from the bright Las Vegas sun. "How…how are you like this? I haven't drunk like that since…Jesus, college."

"Come on," Lauren said, yanking on her hand. "The best remedy for a hangover is exercise. Get your gym gear on!"

Chase groaned, letting the perky blonde pull her out of bed. "It's the best remedy until you throw up all over yourself in the process."

Lauren threw gym shorts, a T-shirt and a sports bra at her. "Found these in your bag. Now hurry up! The sooner we get done working out, the sooner we can eat."

Chase's stomach tensed at the thought of food, but nonetheless she struggled into her clothes. "I'm only doing this because you're getting married in a couple days," she grumbled.

"And I appreciate it," Lauren replied. She grinned at Chase, her hands on her hips. "I promise you'll feel better when you're done."

They made their way through the hotel to the fitness center. Lauren opted for the elliptical machine while Chase decided to test the progress of her knee and go for a run on the treadmill. She set the machine for five miles and popped her earbuds in. During the first few minutes she was sure she'd made a mistake, but gradually, she felt less awful and was able to power through the run. She was so focused on her run, her time, and her music, that she barely noticed anyone else in the fitness center.

When she'd completed her run, she slowed down to a walk, her hands on her hips as sweat poured off of her. She hated to admit that Lauren was right, but she did feel significantly better now than she had in the morning. Her stomach was even beginning to grumble with hunger pangs.

Lauren, covered in sweat, bounced over to her. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Chase replied with a smile. "Hate to say, but you were right! So what do you want to do today?"

"Well," Lauren replied. "After breakfast I have my final dress fitting and FDR has a tux fitting. Then I thought we could go shopping for a little bit, then come back here and lounge by the pool and drink until it's time for dinner with our families at eight."

"Sounds like a plan," Chase replied, thinking past the dinner. She'd budgeted about two, two-and-a-half hours for dinner with Lauren's and FDR's families; that should give her and Tuck time to make it to Sapphire around the same time as the Russians.

FDR was fully aware of what was going on, but Chase and Tuck had decided to involve him as little as possible. They didn't want to do anything to ruin the wedding and its festivities; he had grumpily resigned himself to being an informed sideliner. Chase thought it best not to tell Lauren anything – she knew from experience how testy brides could be as their special days drew closer.

They returned to their room to shower and get ready for the day. Lauren had graciously insisted Chase shower first, so she kept it as short and cool as possible. Even in the spring, Vegas was warm and humid, and Chase really didn't know what to do with her unruly, wavy hair, so she pinned it up into a loose knot on top of her head. She decided on a pair of white shorts and a boxy, loose-fitting baby blue tank top with a pair of simple tan sandals.

"Are we meeting the guys?" Chase asked, as Lauren slipped on her sandals and grabbed her purse.

"Yes, and Trish and Bob," Lauren replied. She smirked. "I'm sure you're missing Tuck after living with him the past few days."

"Hey, now," Chase said, chuckling and holding up a finger. "I take enough shit from your fiancé at work. Don't you start in on me, too."

"I just think you guys are really cute together," Lauren replied. "You should just get together already."

"It's not quite that simple," Chase said. "We're working together…that can get awkward."

Lauren peered at her pointedly over the top of her sunglasses. "It seems to me like you guys have already crossed a line or two."

Chase grew warm, thinking about the kisses she and Tuck had shared since Wednesday. Lauren had a point. "Ok," Chase said as they left their room and headed for the elevator. "I'll give you that. I'm just – I was engaged to this guy I'd been with for a while and when our engagement ended, I just focused on work. I haven't dated anyone since I broke up with my ex." She shrugged. "I don't really know how to…do _that_." She gestured vaguely with her hands. "_Date._" She sighed. "Besides, I don't want to get too close, you know? I'm going back to New York when this case is wrapped and we're getting closer to doing that."

"Oh, really?" Lauren asked, curious. She could have bitten her tongue off at that slip. Chase knew by now that the blonde could be as relentless as a bloodhound who caught the scent once she latched onto something.

"Uh, sort of," she said hastily. "We've got some leads –" She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't want to bore you with that. I'm starved, huh?"

Lauren narrowed her bright blue eyes at Chase but let the matter drop for the time being. They walked through the casino toward the restaurant.

"Oh, look," she said brightly. "There they are."

Chase followed her through the tables and bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Tuck, FDR and Bob all definitely looked worse for the wear this morning. All three were sitting mutely with cups of black coffee before them. Tuck and FDR were wearing dark sunglasses and Bob was staring into space with glassy eyes. Trish sat next to the three of them, showered, freshly made up and dressed nicely, shaking her head. Lauren and Chase sat down at the table, smirking at the men.

"Good morning," Lauren said, suppressing a chuckle. "You guys, uh, don't look so good."

The men mumbled unintelligibly and Chase couldn't help her extreme amusement. The three men had partied hard last night; they'd all gone from casino to casino, gambling and drinking. Somehow it had turned into a boys' night with the three women eventually trailing behind. From there, it had turned into a raucous competition of who could take the most shots.

The waiter came by to take their breakfast orders and bring out two extra cups of coffee for Chase and Lauren.

"How are you, Trish?" Chase asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," the woman replied coolly. "I find that copious amounts of sex help cure my hangovers." She reached over to pat her listless husband on the shoulder. "Bob did very well last night. Although, he can't remember any of it and fell asleep shortly after he got me off for the eighth time, but it worked out for me, so." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"You know, I didn't _think_ I was going to puke," FDR announced.

"Sorry, but it's true," Trish said smugly, before turning to the girls and holding up eight fingers to emphasize her point. "Don't be mad that you're involuntarily celibate, FDR," Trish went on. "It's for a good reason, even though you'll probably only last forty-five seconds as soon as Lauren lays it on you." The table groaned in a chorus. "What?" Trish went on. "It's true. Don't get mad at me. But cheer up. You only have one more night of torture."

FDR made a fist and shook it victoriously over his head. "Yes. One more night and I can get some relief."

The waiter returned with a large tray and started placing their plates in front of them. Chase's stomach grumbled as she looked down hungrily at her scrambled eggs, sausage links and pancakes.

"So seriously, no sex whatsoever?" Trish asked once everyone had dug into their food.

"None," Lauren replied.

"No handies, no blowies, no 'just the tip'? Straight-up legit celibacy?"

"Jesus Christ, Trish," Tuck said.

"None," Lauren repeated.

"High-five to that, girlfriend," Trish said and slapped hands with Lauren. "It's good for them!" She shook her head at FDR. "I hate to see what your hamper looks like, though. All those towels."

"Oh, my God," Chase said.

"It's true. Be glad I got you some for your wedding gift."

Chase erupted into laughter. Trish was too much sometimes.

"So, that makes four of us having sex on this vacation," Trish said, looking pointedly between Tuck and Chase. "I think everyone should be having sex whilst in Vegas," she added, staring at Chase. "Don't you, Chase?"

"As long as it's done within accordance to the laws of prostitution or with some other willing partner, sure," Chase replied, smirking.

"Interesting viewpoint," Trish said. "What do you think, Tuck?"

Tuck had just taken a sip of orange juice and spluttered slightly. "Ah, what she said," he replied, nodding toward Chase.

"Prostitution isn't illegal here," Bob, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly spoke up. Every head swiveled in his direction.

"And how in the hell do you know that?" Trish asked.

"Google," he answered. "I was just curious. I mean, we were coming out here and everything. You never know what could happen. I saw 'The Hangover'."

"And on that note," FDR said, rising, "I believe that concludes breakfast. Come on, dude, we have a tux fitting to get to." He nudged Tuck who groaned and struggled to his feet. "Come on, Bob."

FDR leaned down to give Lauren a kiss and Bob did the same to Trish; Chase looked awkwardly down at her plate, knowing there would be no such exchange between her and Tuck. She glanced up at him and caught him looking at her. He gave her a slow half-smile and turned to follow FDR and Bob out of the restaurant.

"Feeling left out?" Trish asked, reaching for her mug.

Chase shook her head. "I'm good, I promise," she said wryly.

"Well, come on, ladies," Lauren said, getting up from her seat. She patted her stomach. "Now that we've just stuffed ourselves with bread and animal fat, let's go try on some dresses."

:O:O:O:

After a long day of shopping, the women finally returned to the hotel in the late afternoon. Chase was actually exhausted from all their running around; a couple hours by the Venetian's grandiose pool before the family dinner sounded extremely appealing.

Lauren had looked beautiful in her gown; it was a strapless mermaid-style ivory dress with ornate beading at the bodice. It had a plunging back, all the way to the waist, and a long train. Trish, surprisingly, had actually teared up the sight and Chase herself was amazed at how exquisite the petite blonde looked. They fussed with her hair and picked out some shoes. Chase had decided to buy a different dress for the wedding while they were out, opting for a jade green lace boat-neck pencil dress with a fishtail hem and capped sleeves. The slim fit showed off her athletic but curvy shape to perfection, and the shade complemented her olive skin perfectly.

The men were nowhere to be seen but Bob had sent Trish a text letting them know they'd be joining them poolside within a half an hour – they were hitting the roulette tables on the way back. The girls changed into their bathing suits and headed down to the pool.

As the women settled into their lounge chairs and began to sun themselves, Chase brought out her cellphone to check her emails; she had one from the agency confirming again the Russians' presence at the Sapphire club. She and Tuck had exchanged a few text messages concerning their plan for that night. She knew that she was going to have to get clever with her and Tuck's entry into the club; the seedier places had a habit of accepting "dancers" right off the streets but Sapphire had a reputation for being a classier, more upscale "gentleman's club". She knew she couldn't just waltz her way in through the front door and be granted a job for the night.

She was, however, going to _sneak _her way in through the back door and _take _a job for the night.

She smiled to herself at the thought, the old, familiar anticipatory feeling of excitement before a recon mission uncoiling in her stomach.

"What are you smiling about?" Trish demanded as she walked back toward their little grouping of lounge chairs by the pool. She was carrying three plastic cups of margaritas.

"What? Oh, nothing," Chase replied, accepting a cup.

"Probably something Tuck-related," Lauren said.

"You guys are _seriously_ obsessed," Chase commented, shaking her head. She took a sip of her drink and almost choked. "Holy shit – these are strong!"

"I told the bartender to make ours triples," Trish replied with a smile. She took a sip of hers with relish.

"Jesus, we're going to be wasted before we even get to dinner!" Lauren exclaimed.

"It'll make things more interesting," Trish said. She suddenly sat up, pulling her shades down her nose slightly. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Chase turned her head in the direction Trish was looking and clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. FDR, Tuck and Bob were heading toward them, but Chase only had eyes for Tuck. He wore a pair of red swim trunks and had what looked like a white wife-beater draped around his neck as they headed for the pool. Every inch of his smooth, tanned, tattooed torso was on display, and it was amazing. She was glad her large sunglasses hid her undoubtedly bugged out eyes. He managed to turn every female head that he passed but he seemed completely unaware of the attention.

"Ladies," FDR said by way of greeting, dropping into the chair next to Lauren. Bob plopped down next to his wife and Trish gave him a big, passionate kiss.

"How was the tux fitting?" Chase asked, looking at Tuck as he settled into the chair next to her and reached over to take a sip of her margarita. He made a face and handed it back.

"Lots of fun," FDR said sarcastically. Lauren shot him a look. "Just kidding. It was fine, we're all squared away. What about you guys?"

"It was great," Lauren gushed.

"She looked gorgeous," Chase added, smiling. "You're a lucky man, Foster. I don't think you really deserve all that, to be perfectly honest."

"Here you go," FDR said, rolling his eyes, but he smiled. "I can't wait to see it, baby." He leaned over to give Lauren a kiss.

Chase glanced back at Tuck. "So, a tux, huh?" she said. "A tux for Tuck." She chuckled. "Try saying that five times fast."

He smirked, his eyes moving over her slowly and she suddenly felt very "on display" in her bright yellow bikini. The look in his eyes made her skin flush and tighten, sending jolts straight down between her legs. She glanced away. _God dammit, he's gorgeous._

"Indeed," he replied. "With bow ties."

"Bow ties?" she repeated, struggling to keep her voice steady. His eyes settled somewhere between her stomach and her thighs, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip and drawing it between his teeth for a moment. It was only for an instant, but it set a deep, sudden throbbing off inside of her, down below, almost instantaneously.

"Yes. However, they won't be tied, as neither one of us was clever enough to figure out how the damn things work. So we're going to leave them untied."

"That could be cool," Chase said. "You'll be like 007. The tux, the untied bowtie, the accent."

"That might work out for me," Tuck said, finally meeting her eyes. "007 always gets the girl." His gaze locked onto hers as one of his fingers reached out to trail along her suntan-oiled arm, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Chase was struggling to come up with a clever reply, and failing, when Lauren stood up.

"Well, guys, we ladies need to go freshen up for dinner. We're meeting our folks at the Picasso in the Bellagio at eight. Don't hang out down here too long and don't drink too much beer," she said, wagging her finger at FDR.

He looked over his shoulder at Bob. "Does it start this early, the nagging?" he asked.

Bob nodded solemnly. "Yes. It does. And it never lets up."

Lauren kicked his lounge chair hard. "I'm serious! You better be in that lobby at a quarter 'til eight."

FDR grinned and reached for her hand, tugging her down. "Yes, baby."

"That's better," she smiled.

As Trish leaned over to kiss Bob goodbye, Chase gathered her things and slipped her feet into her flip-flops, preparing to stand. "That's my cue," she said.

Tuck placed his hand on top of hers. "What about me?" he asked with a smile.

Chase froze. "What?"

Tuck's hand slid up to cup her jaw, his large fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as he pulled her face down toward his gently. Her stomach did a back flip as he brought his face next to hers. She felt his full, soft lips graze her cheek chastely, and then he pulled back. He seemed extremely amused at her discomfiture as she hurried to her feet.

"Bye, ladies," FDR called.

"See you soon," Tuck added, his eyes on Chase.

She managed a fluttery wave before heading off after Trish and Lauren. Her stomach was equally fluttery but she couldn't keep a smile off her face.

:O:O:O:

After a very pleasant dinner with Lauren's parents and Nana and her husband, the older members of the group opted to turn in. Lauren and FDR decided to have a very chaste date, deciding to go to a movie and then get a late dessert somewhere while Bob and Trish announced they were going to retire to their room.

"But, we're not going to sleep," Trish clarified. "Just so you know. Do not disturb."

Chase rolled her eyes but these plans would allow her and Tuck to infiltrate the club without too many extra questions. "I'm going to go back to the room and do some work," she said, which was not entirely a lie. She avoided Tuck's eyes.

"I've got some work to do as well," Tuck said smoothly.

"So you're both going back to your hotel rooms right next door to each other by yourselves to do work?" Trish repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Trish, leave them alone," Lauren laughed. "Jeez."

"Well, I was just making sure," Trish replied with a smirk. "I like to be informed at all times."

When they had all gone their separate ways, she and Tuck hailed a taxi back to their hotel.

"I'll go upstairs and change out of this," Chase said, gesturing to her casual summer dress. "You should probably stay in what you have on." He wore black slacks and a light gray striped button-down; definitely appropriate for Sapphire.

Tuck looked at his watch. It was just after eleven. "All right. I'll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes."

Back at the hotel, Chase sped up to the room and quickly shucked her dress and sandals. She knew she'd be finding something at the club to dress in to play her role, so she grabbed a loose, boxy T-shirt, jean shorts, and her running shoes. She glanced at herself in the mirror, narrowing her eyes. Her plan was to sneak in through the back of the club and pose as a new hire; at this hour, she knew from experience that the club managers normally retired to their offices, letting the bouncers keep an eye on things below. But if she was going to look the part of a newly hired dancer…

She quickly gathered the hem of her loose T-shirt and knotted it at her navel and rolled the sleeves up to her shoulders. She unbuttoned her jean shorts and folded the waistband down and stepped back critically; _now_ she looked the part.

She hurried back to the lobby and saw Tuck waiting for her by the doors. He did a double-take when he saw her, his eyebrows lifting.

"Taxi?" she asked him.

He nodded outside where a cab was waiting. They pushed out of the hotel. "We'll have him drop me a block away," she said. "So I can get in through the back."

"Sounds fine," Tuck replied.

When the taxi neared the club fifteen minutes later, Chase tapped the driver's shoulder. "Let me out here, please," she instructed. When he pulled to a stop, she turned to look at Tuck. He had a focused look on his face. Her eyes sparkled at him.

"See you inside, cowboy," she said with a wink. "Let's do this."

"Be careful," he cautioned, grabbing her hand. "I mean it." He wanted to say more, but with the presence of the driver, he couldn't. She nodded, letting him know she understood.

"Gotta go," she said lightly, and hopped out of the cab. She stood back, watching the cab pull off and head toward the front of the club. She jogged across the street toward the back of the club. There was a door at the back of the building, positioned between two large dumpsters. She tried the handle, and as she expected, it was locked. After a moment, she knocked on the door.

Another moment later, the door opened, a burly man leaning out. He studied her suspiciously. "Who're you?" he asked.

"The new girl," Chase replied brightly. "Jasmine. Didn't the boss tell you? I'm starting tonight, and I'm kinda running late."

The bouncer sighed, but stood aside to let her through. "You gotta show up on time next time so you can use the employee entrance. There's not always someone back here."

"Well, I thank you anyway, sugar," Chase purred. "I'll do better next time."

The bouncer nodded, gesturing to a staircase in the wall. "You better hurry up."

Chase glanced at the staircase and waved to the bouncer over her shoulder and took the stairs two at a time. She found herself in the doorway of a large, chaotic dressing room, naked and mostly naked women everywhere.

"Who are you?" a tall redhead demanded, walking up to her.

Chase drew herself up, meeting the redhead's gaze straight on. She knew from experience that strippers were generally a tough, streetwise bunch who didn't take kindly to strange or new faces. "The new girl," she replied evenly. "Jasmine."

"Jerry didn't say anything about a new girl," the redhead said suspiciously.

"Guess he forgot," Chase said. "He's a busy guy, after all."

She sighed, looking Chase up and down. "Is _that_ your outfit?" she exclaimed.

"No, of course not," Chase replied. "He said I could find one here."

"Over there," the redhead said, gesturing vaguely to an area full of hangers toward the back of the room. "Tops and bottoms only, no panties. If you don't have 'em on right now, you're not wearin' 'em at all. You need more makeup on than that too, by the way."

"Thanks," Chase said, and headed off toward the rack of clothing. Either this was much easier than it should have been, or she was really convincing as a newbie stripper. She wasn't sure how she felt about the latter. She sifted through the rack, stopping when she found a black corset with pink lacings, and a matching pair of tiny, ruffled black shorts. She quickly shucked her clothes, wondering if she'd have a chance to come back and change before leaving. She had no idea how this night was going to turn out; however, she prayed it wouldn't be anything like it was at the Glass Slipper – she was completely ill-equipped. Tonight was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission only.

She pulled the corset on and pulled the shorts on over her panties. They were really more like boyshort underwear but they were brand new, still with the tag on. She found a dancer at a vanity and walked over.

"Lace me up?" she asked with a smile. The dancer didn't return the smile but reached for the hot pink laces anyway, tightening the corset around her and lacing her up. Chase turned around and the dancer's eyes went over her critically.

"Push 'em up," she said, rising to her feet. Before Chase could ask her what she meant, the dancer reached out and into the cups of the corset, grabbing her breasts and positioning them higher so her cleavage was even more apparent.

"Uh, thanks," Chase said.

"Don't forget your shoes," the dancer replied, before slipping out of her robe. She had on a white lace teddy and a matching thong and six-inch tall clear heels. She moved around Chase for the stairs, moving as easily as if she'd been wearing running shoes.

"Way out of my league," Chase muttered to herself, casting around for a pair of shoes. She found a pair of black stiletto pumps in her size that had to be at least four-and-a-half inches tall. The spike heel was frighteningly skinny. She slipped her feet into them and tightened the strap around her ankle. She caught sight of a pair of long, elbow-length black satin gloves and tilted her head curiously. After a moment she snatched them up and rolled them onto her hands, up her arms. She returned to the "friendly" dancer's vanity and peered at herself in the mirror. After seeing the makeup of the dancers, she agreed she didn't have near enough on; she grabbed an eyeliner pencil and applied it more heavily and smudged it and added some bronzer to her cheeks and forehead. She spotted a hot pink lip gloss on the vanity that almost perfectly matched the laces of her corset so she reached for it and swiped it over her full lips.

"Better," she muttered to herself. She fluffed out her hair and pushed her breasts up. She twisted to the side. "Let's go," she said to her reflection before heading for the stairs. When she reached the stairs, she glanced to her right, seeing a longer hallway. She took a few steps in that direction, peering around the corner. There was a door at the end of the hall, and it was slightly open. She could see into a very plush, opulent room with its own bar, a few tables, and several couches placed around the room. There were two large flat-screen TVs on the walls. Her eyes narrowed. It looked like the perfect space for high-ranking mafiosos to blow off a little steam. She could make out a few men playing cards at one of the tables, but based on their appearance and dress, they were probably merely mafia soldiers button-men; definitely not mob leadership.

She turned for the stairs, anxious to find Tuck and tell him what she'd found.

:O:O:O:

When Tuck finally entered the club, he glanced around. As it was a Monday night, it was still pretty quiet. He didn't see any of the Russians – Bothwick had sent both him and Chase profiles on some of the lieutenants that were supposed to be there. He needed to try and keep a relatively low profile; this was a simple recon mission, with an emphasis on covert, and they simply couldn't afford to blow their covers this late in the game. He was concerned with the fact that Andrei at least knew who Chase was, but from listening to the feeds for several days now, it hadn't been shared or revealed to anyone else.

He found a chair and table for one in a darker corner of the room, away from the stages and the bar, and took a seat. It was actually a great place to sit, being that it was in shadow due to the second floor jutting out overhead, and allowed him to see the whole room as well as the entrance.

More people started to trickle in. There was a group of young late twenty-something guys claiming some tables near the front of the stage. They were already pretty rowdy. But not the group he was concerned with. He scanned the room, making note of every face. He sighed and glanced at his watch. He wasn't sure what had become of Chase.

Finally his eyes settled on a face near the entrance. He sat up sharply. That was definitely one of Kozlov's men. He hadn't been at the Glass Slipper, but Tuck had scores of candid photos with this man in them. He had to be some sort of lieutenant.

Tuck pushed his chair a little further back into the shadows, watching intently. The man said a few words to the bouncer and then walked up a set of stairs against the opposite wall, disappearing somewhere onto the second floor.

Just then, a body dropped onto his lap. Tuck sighed and started to gently push her away.

"No, thank you, miss –"

She leaned down, placing a hand on his chest, and he caught the familiar whiff of her hair and perfume as she said, "Tuck, it's me," into his ear.

He pulled back and looked up quickly into Chase's face. She smiled down at him. He motioned for her to come back down again so he could speak into her ear. He tried to ignore the delicious aroma that was coming off her in waves.

"One of Kozlov's men just walked in," he said into her ear. "He went upstairs. There must be some sort of room up there that they'll be using."

"There is," she said, turning her head so she could speak into his ear. "I found the room after I changed. There are some guys up there playing cards now; none of the big boys have shown up yet."

As she spoke, her hair fell back over her shoulder and Tuck was able to see what she'd managed to find to change into – a cropped, strapless black corset top and ruffled boyshorts with a pair of black stiletto pumps and long black gloves up to her elbows. He couldn't help his eyes falling to her chest. Her breasts were tantalizingly pushed up from the corset and dusted with some sort of shimmery scented powder.

"Tuck? Did you hear me?"

He glanced quickly back up into her eyes, seeing the amused look on her face. She shifted slightly on his lap to give him better visual access to her body, smirking when his eyes followed the movement.

"I heard you," he hurried to say. She leaned back down, her lips brushing his earlobe.

"Do you like my outfit?" she asked huskily in his ear.

"It's all right," he replied gruffly.

She smirked. "Just all right?" she teased.

Suddenly, a large man in a tight T-shirt and black pants walked up and grabbed her elbow, hauling her off Tuck's lap. Tuck clenched his fists as he sat up, half-rising from his chair and glaring at the man. Chase subtly waved at him to sit down.

"…You don't get paid to sit on your ass all night," the man was telling her. "Now if he wants some action, he's gotta pay. Dance!" He pushed her back toward Tuck and gave Tuck a meaningful look before turning to walk away. A few paces away, he glanced over his shoulder at them.

"Better dance," Tuck said. Now it was his turn to be amused.

Chase rolled her eyes and started to move to the music. Tuck watched her. Her previous experience as a go-go dancer took over and she didn't look awkward or uncomfortable at all. In fact, she looked smooth, confident, and extremely sexy. He couldn't take his eyes from her. The next song came on, and it sounded familiar. It rang a bell in his mind but he couldn't place it.

Suddenly Chase laughed. She leaned down over him and said, "It's your favorite song," before pulling away. He suddenly realized it was the song he'd seen her first dance to at the Glass Slipper.

Her "boss" walked past her again and glared at her, so she started dancing again. She turned around to give Tuck her back and slowly sank onto his lap. His hands gripped the sides of the chair automatically as she started to roll her hips on him to the beat of the song.

_Acting_, he told himself firmly as he tried to get control of himself. The sight and the feel of it were almost too much for him and he felt himself start to harden. _Ah, fuck. _For her part, Chase seemed amused again. _Just acting!_

She gripped his knees and rolled her hips slowly back on him, grinding against him firmly. His desire for her shot through the roof. Finally he couldn't take it; he was jerking crazily inside his pants. He grabbed a hold of her hips to push her away but she leaned back into him, her head resting on his shoulder. He sat up with her pressed against his chest, still trying to gently push her away before she felt something that would potentially embarrass them both.

"Christ, Chase," he growled in her ear, his breath hitched. "You've got to stop."

She bit her lip, rising from his lap. He breathed a sigh of relief but then she bent over directly in front of him, seductively moving her hips to the beat.

_Is she trying to kill me?_ he groaned to himself, his hands clutching the armrests again, unable to look away from her luscious form moving in front of him.

:O:O:O:

Chase straightened, swaying her hips as she turned toward Tuck again. She was actually having fun, and she was thoroughly enjoying Tuck's reactions to her. He had told her he wanted her, without saying a word. And it had felt amazing.

She straddled his lap, her knees braced on the seat cushion. She pulled off one of her long gloves and playfully twirled it in the air before wrapping it around the back of his neck and gently pulling him in close so that he was eye level with her breasts. Her hips were poised just over his and she started to lower herself down.

His hands moved fast from the arms of the chair to catch her hips before they could land on him, holding her up so she couldn't move down. Her eyes met his curiously, and the look in them – confusion, desire, lust – sent tingles racing through her and made her blush. Her smiled slowly dropped away as her heart rate picked up to a superhuman speed as his hooded eyes travelled down her slowly. Tuck's fingers tightened on her hips, squeezing hard, and the sensation made her eyes close for a brief second. A short, breathy, and completely involuntary moan escaped her throat and she quickly bit down on her lip, her eyes popping open as she looked at him again in mortified embarrassment.

The confusion in his eyes slowly melted away, leaving only desire and lust, and one corner of his full, luscious mouth pulled up into a half-smile. She leaned forward until her forehead met the back of the chair next to his head as he slowly tugged her hips lower. The moment her soft, hot center made contact with the hard, thick bulge in his pants, she gasped sharply in his ear.

She felt him jerk in his pants against her at the sound and his fingers dug hard into her hips. "_Christ_," he growled out again in her ear between clenched teeth. Her hips reflexively ground down on him slightly before she could stop herself. She took a shuddery breath, letting it out against his neck before her hands came to his chest, pushing against him gently.

She slowly sat up on him, moving off of him ever so slightly as he let out a shaky breath. He looked up at her, seeing her smoky eyes dark with want, with need. They mirrored the emotions boiling through him.

Movement over her shoulder caught his eye. It was her "boss" patrolling past them again, looking at them pointedly. He glared at Tuck and swiped his fingers together in the international "money" gesture.

Tuck dug a bill out of his pocket and reached out, running his fingertips over her skin, right above the waistband of her panties, feeling her shiver. He tried to ignore that as he pulled the waistband out toward him and placed the bill against her body before letting go of it, letting it slap against her skin. She looked at him in surprise and he subtly flicked his head toward the boss. She sighed and casually tossed her hair over her shoulder to look in that direction. She locked eyes with her boss as he spotted the bill in her panties and nodded, moving on.

The distraction was what they both needed to get themselves under control. Chase slowly turned back around, feeling suddenly shy as she faced Tuck. He was watching her carefully, his face now smooth. His eyes still flickered with desire as they moved over her face. She slowly stood and he stood up next to her.

"I'm gonna go upstairs," she said in his ear. "See who's there." She started to step away but he gripped her arm, hard, and pulled her in close.

"Be careful," he said in her ear. "They won't play nice with you."

"Just wait down here for me," she said, gently extracting herself. Her hand lingered on his for a moment before she turned and swiftly crossed the room.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note - another chapter for you today! I am in a huge hurry so I apologize very much for the typos - I will go back and clean it up later...but I just had to get an update out! I know, I'm bad. Read, enjoy, and review!**

**Chapter 20**

Chase headed up the stairs. She figured she'd be able to slip up relatively unnoticed; as it was now after midnight, the club was picking up in action downstairs. There were a lot of patrons for a Monday night, in her opinion, and dancers were starting to fill the stage. While she'd been busy with Tuck, she hadn't been paying attention to who was coming into the club.

She reached the dressing room area and veered left, heading down the same hallway she'd found earlier. She smirked to herself, hearing loud voices, male voices, shouting in Russian from the room. She chanced a peek around the corner and saw there were at least a dozen men, maybe more, in expensive suits milling about the room, holding glasses of what she assumed was vodka and big, fat stogies.

One man caught her looking around the corner and waved to her. She narrowed her eyes, tension clutching her gut, but she stayed in character and sauntered around the corner toward him.

"How can I help you?" she drawled, wondering vaguely why she'd made her voice sound somewhat Southern.

"Women," he said in a heavily accented voice. "The dancers. When are they coming?"

"Very soon," she said smoothly. "I came up here to check on that for you. Ok? You just go back to relaxing and when you see me again, I'll have a whole bunch of my friends with me."

He narrowed his eyes at her but nodded, then reached out and slipped a twenty dollar bill into one of her cups and patted her rear. "Good girl, you go now."

Chase suppressed the urge to reach out and break his neck, instead choosing to smile sweetly and sashay away around the corner. She almost immediately ran into three dancers, hauling ass up the stairs.

"Oh my God, are they pissed?" a raven-haired girl asked.

"Of course they are, we've kept them waiting too long!" a blonde exclaimed.

"Let's go, ladies," a caramel-skinned African American dancer said. "There's hella money in there right now!" The other dancers scurried in front of her down the hall and Chase heard a chorus of cheers come from the men. The African-American girl looked at Chase.

"You comin'?" she asked impatiently.

"Uh, yeah," Chase replied. She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. "I just need to go put on some more lip gloss."

The dancer nodded. "Hurry up. Don't forget the drinks." She turned and walked down the hall, leaving Chase confused.

_Drinks? _she thought, casting about for some clue as to what the dancer was talking about.

At that moment, another girl came up the stairs, carrying a tray of several bottles of expensive, top-shelf liquor. She was as scantily clad as any of the dancers and Chase wondered if the cocktail waitresses doubled as strippers or vice versa.

"That going down the hall?" Chase asked. "I can take it."

The girl scoffed at her. "You can fuck the hell off, is what you can do."

Chase was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Four girls _max_ in the room," the girl replied, her free hand on her hip. She gave Chase a withering head to toe look. "And no newbies. So go do your little thing downstairs where you belong." She turned to walk off.

"Oh, wait," Chase said quickly. "Honey, you have a giant deodorant stain on the back of your…nightie."

"What?" the girl demanded, trying to carefully whirl around to check out the back of her black lace nightie.

"Yeah. Huge. Come here, I'll help you get it out." Chase walked into the dressing room and with a sigh, the dancer followed, setting the tray down carefully on a free space on a nearby vanity.

"Make it fast," she said. "I'm losing mon—"

The rest of her sentence was lost as Chase's elbow flew up into the center of her face, cracking against the nerves hard, and the girl dropped silently in a heap to the floor.

Chase looked down at her. "Sorry 'bout that," she said. She glanced around, seeing a tiny broom closet that revealed a shamefully small bathroom. She dragged the girl into the bathroom and shut the door, then propped a chair underneath it. She returned to the door and grabbed the tray off the vanity and carried it down the hall.

She glanced around, seeing all eyes swivel toward her when she entered. She smirked and sauntered into the room, the tray balanced against her shoulder. She walked to the bar and set the tray down. The other three dancers were busy with lap dances at the moment. She moved the bottles to the bar counter and placed the tray under the bar.

A large man with slicked blonde hair and icy blue eyes walked up to the bar. He was wearing an expensive heather gray three-piece suit with a pale pink button down underneath.

"May I refresh your glass?" Chase asked smoothly, leaning against the bar and flashing both her cleavage and the twenty dollar bill that peeked out from her right cup. The Russian didn't miss it, starting pointedly at her breasts.

"Vodka, please," he answered politely, setting his short tumbler on the counter. She smiled and uncapped a bottle of the potent, clear liquid and poured it into his glass after dropping a few fresh ice cubes in the bottom. He picked it up and took a sip, nodding.

"Very fine," he remarked, meeting her eyes steadily. She glanced at the stogie between his fingers.

"Relight?" she asked, holding up a gold-plated lighter that was lying on the counter.

"Indeed," he replied, placing the cigar between his lips and leaning toward her. She flicked the top of the lighter and held the flame to the end of the cigar, letting him puff several times to get it going. When he was satisfied, he nodded and she snapped the lighter closed, setting it down.

His hand dropped on her wrist and she looked up at him sharply. He smiled and moved his head to the side.

"Come," he said. "Please. Come have a drink with my friends and me, come dance for us."

"I'm just the bartender, sweetheart," she replied, noting he hadn't taken his hand from her wrist. In fact, it was tightening.

He laughed, a slippery noise that made her stomach coil. "That is funny. We were told that the girls would be provided all kinds of services this evening." He licked his lips, and caught the look of alarm on her face. He reached out to stroke her cheek and Chase forced herself not to recoil. "All I want from you is a dance and the honor of your presence." He smirked. "For now." He gripped her wrist tight, his insistence unmistakable. His eyes glinted at her coldly. "Let's go. I will introduce you to my friends. Bring the vodka and the lighter."

Chase had no choice but to follow, the requested items in her hands as the Russian gripped her elbow. He led her to a small, curtained alcove that had two loveseats facing each other. One dark-haired man was on one couch, with another blonde on the other.

"Ivan, Yosef, this is…?" he trailed off glancing down at her.

"Jasmine," Chase replied.

"Jasmine, of course," the blonde replied. "Ivan, Yosef, this is Jasmine."

They both nodded at her, their eyes raking her. The man who had first approached her climbed into the alcove, settling down on a couch. "Come in here."

Chase followed him in, still clutching the bottle. "May I refresh your drinks and your cigars, gentlemen?" she asked politely. She refilled their glasses and relit their cigars, then set the items on the carpet at her feet. "Why are you boys tucked back here?" she asked. She smirked. "Feeling a little shy?"

The first Russian smiled at her. "No. We just choose to not to socialize too closely with the lower group."

"Meaning what?" Chase asked. She leaned forward toward him, her cleavage pushing out tantalizingly. "Are you somebody big and important?"

Ivan/Yosef, or Yosef/Ivan, she had no idea which was which, smirked. "You could say that. Artur's only Boris's brand-new underboss. Not important at all." The two other Russians snickered as the blonde smiled indulgently, patting the air with false modesty.

"Call it a battlefield promotion," he said self-deprecatingly. "Had Viktor not been killed a couple weeks ago at that other strip club in this God-forsaken town, it would not have happened."

Chase sat straight up. _Jack-fucking-pot_.

"I don't know who Boris is, but 'underboss' usually means second in command, don't it?" Chase said, leaning back and crossing her legs seductively.

Artur eyed her legs. "Yes, my dear. I'm like a counselor to Boris. As for who he is…don't worry your pretty head about it. That's what the Americans say, no?"

"That's right," she murmured.

Artur held his glass out to her. "Come, my lovely. Have a drink. To celebrate my new position."

Chase leaned forward, her hands still draped gracefully across her lap, and parted her lips, never breaking eye contact with Artur. She allowed him to pour a bit of the vodka into her mouth and she swallowed slowly.

"Good girl," he said. "Now dance."

Chase got to her feet and stood in the middle of the small alcove and started to sway her hips to the beat of the music. The three men were silent for a little bit, just watching her, and then Artur finally reached out and took her hand, pulling her over to him.

"I've decided that you are mine," he said in her ear. "So you will dance here, just for me. Not for them." He lightly smacked her rear to set her into motion, and Chase started to move once again to the music, in front of Artur.

The other two began to ignore her presence and eventually the three men began to jabber in Russian. They were talking fast, really fast, and between that and the loud music, Chase struggled to concentrate on what they were saying.

She slowly turned around, hips first, to face Artur, standing before him as she swayed to the music. She lowered one knee to the cushion of the couch, the change in pressure causing him to glance at her. She moved closer, silently asking for permission. He nodded slightly and tugged on her hand, indicating she could sit down on him. She lowered herself into his lap and moved against him to the music. Now that she was level with them, she could hear them better.

"Are we sure we can do this here?" Ivan/Yosef asked.

"The hotel knows nothing about us," Yosef/Ivan replied. "Their understanding is we are just businessmen."

"We have contacts within hotel management," Artur answered them both. "We will be under the radar, so to speak."

"When will Boris and Vladimir arrive?" Ivan/Yosef asked. Chase's ears perked up and she leaned against Artur's chest, nuzzling his neck as she listened intently.

"They never arrive more than a day in advance any time we meet," Yosef/Ivan said scornfully. "They are too good to spend time with their soldiers."

"They will arrive the morning of the meeting," Artur said. "On Thursday."

_Thursday._ Chase's mind spun. _Ok, now _where?

"Will it still be at the Wynn?" Yosef/Ivan asked. "Some of my men said it would be the Bellagio."

"No, the Wynn," Artur confirmed. "Boris thinks it is the finest hotel in this city. He lives near the canyons but he got a room anyway. He wants to relax a bit, have lunch, have a swim, relax some more, go over the files and the agenda. Remind your men they must not be late; the meeting will start promptly at eight, immediately after dinner, which they also need to be present for."

Ivan and Yosef each nodded and Chase was momentarily distracted as she filed away all of that information. Artur shoved at her shoulder and she jumped.

"Did you fall asleep?" he asked sharply.

"No, uh –" Chase sat up and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm sorry. I need to use the restroom. Is that ok with you?"

He sighed, annoyed, but nodded, waving her off dismissively. "Fine. Hurry back. And when she comes back, Ivan, Yosef, you will leave us and close these curtains." He smiled wickedly at them, then said in Russian, "She's given me a boner the size of the Stratosphere, and I will make her lay it down when she gets back."

The two men laughed and Chase smiled politely, feigning ignorance, as she walked out of the room, slowly, so as not to raise suspicion.

"Where're you going?" the caramel-skinned dancer demanded, stepping in her way.

"Bathroom," Chase replied. "I'll be quick."

"Make sure of that," the girl replied. "These fuckers are getting antsy. I hope your jaws are nice and loose. We're all going to have sore mouths and bruised knees by tomorrow."

Chase winced, turning from her and heading for the door. She pulled it shut quietly behind her.

"Where are you going?" a heavily accented voice asked from behind her and she whirled. Yet another Russian was standing guard outside the party room.

"Use the ladies' room," she replied evenly, gesturing down the hall and around the corner to where it was inside the dressing room.

"Make it fast," the guard replied.

Chase nodded and cut the corner, allowing herself to speed up as soon as she was out of sight. She started stripping off her outfit as soon as she rounded the corner, unlacing her corset as she ran. When she hit the dressing room, she went straight for the pile of her clothing she'd left and in record time, stripped out of the sexy outfit and threw her bra, T-shirt and shorts back on. She kicked off the heels and jumped into her running shoes, not bothering to lace them, and then turned and went straight for the stairs.

She passed a dancer on her way up. "Hey!" the brunette demanded. "Where are you going?" Chase shoved past her without and answer and hit the first floor. She looked around wildly for Tuck. He was up and pacing near the chair she'd found him in before. She ran up to him.

"Let's go, now!" she shouted, and grabbed his hand and pulled him through the club. The bouncer that had given her hell before stopped her.

"Where are you – "

Chase's fist flew out from her hip, a hard, stiff body shot to the gut, so fast and subtle no one saw; the guard grunted in pain, his breath leaving him in a rush, and she sidestepped around him, pulling Tuck with her.

"Chase!" he said, grabbing her arm once they were outside.

"No time," she said, "no time." She saw an approaching taxi and hailed it. She and Tuck jumped into the back and as they pulled off, she spotted a curtain being pulled back from a window on the second floor, and saw several faces pressed against the glass, staring down at them.

"Go!" she cried to the driver, and he stepped on the gas. She leaned back against the seat, trying to catch her breath. Tuck was staring at her with his eyebrows raised. She was incredibly creeped out and despite it being a very successful recon mission, she was trembling with nerves. When the cab driver let them off outside their hotel ten minutes later, she hurled herself out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, waiting impatiently for Tuck to pay the driver and follow her inside.

In the elevator, she recounted what she'd heard, and watched his face change from concerned to focused to absolutely pleased.

He let out a bark of laughter. "Yes!" he exclaimed, pounding a fist on the wall. "We've got the bastards now! We'll get in touch with the FBI in the morning." He cut his eyes toward her, shaking his head in admiration. "You're really something else, you know that?" he said softly. "You're all right? They didn't…" his voice trailed off.

"Yes," she said softly. "I'm fine. And no, they didn't –"

He cut her off, reaching out and grabbing her hand, hauling her in close. He dug into her hair with one hand and grabbed her waist with the other as he dropped his lips onto hers, pulling her as close against him as he could. He turned her slightly and pressed her into the wall of the elevator. She clutched him wildly, having been caught off guard for a moment, but realizing she needed this release, this close contact after her close call earlier. She felt safe with Tuck, like nothing could happen to her if he were close by. She kissed him back hungrily, hard, probing for his tongue with her own, needing to taste him and feel him. She felt a deep tingle between her legs as he pressed his hips into hers and she felt the unmistakable bulge between his legs press into her hard. Desire flooded through her and she knew she was instantly moist. His hands slipped under her T-shirt, gripping her waist hard as his thumbs stroked over her skin.

It felt like forever, but it had only been a matter of seconds. The elevator reached their floor and the doors opened, and they broke apart, hearing voices behind them. She peeked over his shoulder and saw Lauren and FDR standing in the elevator lobby of their floor.

"Oh, my God!" Lauren exclaimed. "There you are!"

"Dude, no phone or what?" FDR demanded.

"Left it here," Tuck replied, and dropped his arm. Chase realized he'd still been holding onto her but no one else seemed to notice. He glanced at Chase and shot her a brief, subtle smile then turned back to FDR. "Talk to you in the room, mate?" he said, not really a question.

Lauren whirled on Chase. "I was worried sick about you!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry," Chase replied. "I didn't have my phone either."

Lauren narrowed her eyes. "You guys are here working, aren't you?"

_Busted._ Chase sighed. "Ok, Lauren, listen," she said urgently, grabbing the blonde's hand. "I'm here for you. Tuck is _definitely _here for you. It's just a very, very unfortunate coincidence that the leads on our case happen to be occurring here….during your wedding week." Lauren's face clouded over and she opened her mouth, but Chase held up a hand.

"I can't really get into it, but,

"I can't really get into it, but, _yes,_ I'm also working and so is Tuck, but FDR isn't involved. I mean, he knows what's going on, but we're not pulling him into anything because he needs to be here with you. Okay? Please don't be mad."

Lauren sighed. "I'm not mad," she said grudgingly. "I just – just be careful, ok?"

"We are," Chase breathed. "Promise. But…if you happen to see me at some point and I'm lumped up, don't be alarmed ok? Sometimes it comes with the territory of being a spy."

"Right," Lauren said sarcastically. "That's comforting." They headed back to their room in silence, and then Lauren grabbed Chase's arm and whirled to face her. "Were you and Tuck _making out _in the elevator just now?"

_Ah, shit. _Chase yawned exaggeratedly and stretched her arms. "Whew, I am tired! Time to hit the hay." She scampered inside with Lauren hot on her heels.

"No way, you slut! Tell me _everything…"_


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note - hello all! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing :-) Please R&R this chapter and enjoy!**

**Chapter 21**

Tuck waited patiently for Chase in the lobby the next morning. It was extremely early; most of the Vegas vacationers had barely been back in their rooms for a few hours. He fisted against a yawn emerging from his mouth, glancing at his watch. It was a few minutes after seven and he and Chase needed to go meet with the FBI at their field office to get agents and local law enforcement in place within the hotel for the Thursday meet.

He sipped from his cup of coffee, a second steaming latte next to his arm on a fancy, carved pillar coming ornately down from the ceiling. He rubbed the back of his head, stifling another yawn. Although he was tired, he couldn't deny how successful the mission - _trip_, he reminded himself - had been so far. And it was mostly thanks to Chase. She was really quite something else. A slow smile spread over his face as he thought of her. Aside from being brilliant and one of the greatest young agents he'd ever encountered, she was beautiful, had a razor-sharp wit and was possibly the sexiest woman he'd ever met. He grew warm, thinking of the way she'd sat in his lap at the club the night before. At first he'd been embarrassed that she'd made him hard, but she seemed to enjoy it. Seemed to want it. Her soft, breathy moan invaded his brain suddenly and he felt himself stirring in his pants. He huffed a breath and shifted his weight, shaking his head slightly. Now was not the time to get hot and bothered.

Immediately on the tail end of that thought, he caught sight of Chase making her way across the lobby, a stack of files under her arm. He was grateful for his black aviators because he couldn't stop staring at her.

She wore dark shades and was scowling, but her gloriously thick mane of dark hair was down and wavy, mussed in that adorable way he'd come to really like, and she wore a boxy white T-shirt that hung off one golden shoulder with a pair of ripped jean shorts and bright red leather high-top Converse. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, unable to peel his eyes away from her long, lean, shapely muscled legs.

"Good morning, sunshine," he managed as she neared.

Her scowl only deepened as she gestured vaguely at the steaming paper cup next to his arm. "Give that to me."

He glanced at the cup, a smirk pulling at his mouth. "Oh, this, love?" He picked up the cup and dangled it tantalizingly in front of her. She pulled her shades down her nose slightly, her red-rimmed eyes glaring at him.

"Don't start with me, Tuck," she said grumpily.

He only laughed. "Why so grouchy this morning, love?"

"Because..." She trailed off, unable to tell him why she'd slept so poorly. That it was because of him and how turned on she'd been from the club, both from her impromptu lap dance and also the adrenaline of her close call. "Just give me."

She made a lightning-quick swipe for the cup but he was just a little bit faster, pulling it just slightly out of reach, still smiling at her teasingly.

"Only if you ask nicely," he said.

Her full lips twisted into a wry smirk. "Fine. Please."

He handed her the cup and she sipped at it. He nodded at the files under her arm.

"Case files?" he asked. "You ready to go, then?"

"Yep," she replied, turning to head for the door. He trailed behind, reaching behind her to push it open. She stopped short and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Keep forgetting you do that," she muttered, eliciting another grin from Tuck.

They hailed a cab and headed to the FBI field office where they were scheduled to meet with several agents assigned to the Kozlov case. They were shown inside without delay and led into a small office.

"Agents," FBI Agent Jackson said, gesturing to two chairs. Tuck and Chase each took a seat.

"I've got the case files on the Kozlovs," Chase said, wasting no time. She slid the files across the table to Agent Jackson. "I believe Agent Samuels should have briefed you. She was my contact in LA."

"Yes," Agent Jackson replied. "Yes, Agent Samuels has been in very close contact with me. So the Kozlovs are having a meet tomorrow?"

"Thursday," Chase corrected. "At the Wynn. The problem is that this will need to be as covert as possible with no assistance from the hotel. Last night I was able to capture some intel from one of the higher ranking officials for the crime family who indicated that they had contacts within hotel management."

"Roger that," the agent replied. He cocked his head curiously. "How were you able to get that information?"

"Infiltrated a night club," Tuck replied. "Posed as a...er, cocktail waitress to get the intel."

Agent Jackson nodded. "Well done, agents," he said simply. "We'll convene with the LVMPD and begin putting agents in place today. We should be good to go on Thursday. You should make yourselves scarce to avoid getting your covers blown."

"I would prefer to be present," Chase replied. "In a control room, to listen in on the conversation."

_Naturally she does,_ Tuck thought sarcastically.

"Uh, Agent," Agent Jackson began hesitantly.

"I'm fluent in Russian," Chase said.

"We have some agents on staff who also speak Russian."

"Agent Jackson," Chase said testily, half-rising from her chair. "This is the CIA's case. Need I remind you that the CIA lays the groundwork so that the feds and the cops can go in? Now, I'm not asking. I _will_ be present on Thursday evening. Please be sure to have a room set up for surveillance."

"Yes, Agent Moreno," Agent Jackson sighed.

"And please be sure to keep us fully informed of all developments between then and now," Tuck added, knowing that Chase would have insisted on it.

"We'll see you bright and early Thursday morning," Chase told the FBI Agent, her tone vaguely threatening. "This is going to be an all-day endeavor so please prepare your agents and the police accordingly. We can't go charging in there; we need to plot this very carefully. The mob needs to be allowed to go through their scheduled activities for the day without a hint of anything being amiss. They need to be able to get through most, if not all, of the meeting. Place agents around the perimeter, get a squad ready to go. No one moves until I say so."

"With all due respect, Agent - "

"On my mark," Chase repeated. "I want a SWAT team, as few police as possible. Cops only to make sure that no innocent bystanders get hurt. SWAT goes in; this is a federal case, after all."

"Yes, ma'am," Agent Jackson replied, resigned.

Tuck bit back a smile. He was purposely staying quiet and letting Chase call the shots; he wanted to see exactly how she'd orchestrate this thing and everything she had said was what he would have said. He reached out a clapped her shoulder lightly.

"Well done, Agent," he said lightly. She met his gaze and flicked her head slightly.

"Will that be all, Agent Moreno?" Agent Jackson asked.

"For now," Chase replied, pushing away from the table. "I'll be sure to let you know if anything else hits me."

As they exited the building, Tuck glanced at her. "Oh, how the bossing of high-ranking federal officials doth bring a sparkle to thine eye," he said sarcastically.

Chase actually laughed. "You know, that actually sounds really nice with your accent and everything," she replied. "Besides, how out of character would I be if I didn't make sure to have total control over every step?"

"Indeed," Tuck said with a smile. "How about some breakfast?"

"Yes," Chase replied. "Immediately."

They found a small but immensely popular breakfast diner. They got their meals to go and strolled down the street, preferring to enjoy their food in the bright Vegas sunshine. They found a park bench and sat down. Chase popped the lid on her styrofoam box and dug in. She sighed contentedly as she chewed, and Tuck studied the way she flicked her head, gathering her hair over one shoulder. He looked at the long, lean lines of her golden neck, melding into the curve of her exposed shoulder. He watched the way her jaw flexed as she chewed. He liked that she didn't try to be overly dainty and delicate, and yet there was something strikingly, sensuously feminine and sweet about her at the same time.

He cleared his throat and pulled off his sunglasses. "Er, Chase," he started awkwardly.

She looked up at him as she withdrew her fork from between her lips, chewing a mouthful of omelet. She noticed he'd pulled his aviators off and reached up to pull her own down her nose.

"What's up, Tuck?" she asked. Her smoky eyes bored into him.

He cleared his throat again, feeling very much like an inadequate teenage schoolboy.

"I wanted to let you know," he began, then faltered. He wasn't good at this, this game playing. He had always been direct but now he didn't know if he could be that way with her.

Chase cocked her head. "What is it, Tuck?" She smiled. "Spit it out."

Tuck sighed, then leaned forward. "I like you, Chase," he said earnestly, quietly, looking into her eyes. He smirked. "I didn't at first, but now...you're quite the most amazing woman I've ever met."

"I bet you say that to all the girls you crack major federal cases against dangerous international mobsters with," she replied, but she was smiling gently.

"Not all," Tuck joked back. "Just you."

Chase smiled down at her hands. "I like you too, Tuck," she replied finally. She glanced up, meeting his eyes fleetingly. He could tell she was as uncomfortable as he was, but he was glad that it was out in the open and that she felt the same way. He knew that this complicated things, probably beyond his basic understanding, especially in light of the fact that they technically lived on opposite coasts, but he pushed that to the back of his mind.

They ate in silence for a while, then Tuck stood. He glanced at his watch. "It's ten," he said.

"Whoa," she said sarcastically. "Getting late."

He smirked and they headed back to the main street to call a taxi. "What do you want to do today?" he asked. "Before my night of planned depravity, that is."

"Uh, sleep, probably," she replied immediately. "I can't do these late nights quite as effortlessly as I could when I was in college."

Tuck chuckled as his cell phone went off. He dug into his pocket and glanced at it. He laughed to himself.

"What?" Chase asked.

"FDR," Tuck replied. "Just telling me what he wants to do today."

"What's that?" Chase said absently, sliding her shades up her nose.

"Oh, just paintball," Tuck answered.

Chase froze, turning toward him, her shades on the bridge of her nose as her gray-blue eyes locked on his. A slow smile spread over her face.

"Did you say paintball?"

:O:O:O:

Chase blew a sharp breath between her lips as she pressed her back to a tree, her eyes narrowed, scanning the forestry around her. She had a green bandana tied around her wrist, signifying her team allegiance. She glanced forward, seeing Lauren's tentative face peering from around the tree just behind her. Trish was behind the tree next to her, looking completely out of place. They each had green bandanas tied around their wrists and were wearing goggles. Chase had personally eschewed the protective eyewear.

A flash of red caught her eye, and she whirled, going down to a knee and bringing up her paintball gun. She pressed the stock into her shoulder and followed the lumbering movement. She grinned evilly to herself. _Sorry Bob,_ she thought, locking onto her target. She gave the trigger a gentle squeeze, exhaling a breath as she did, and was rewarded with a strangled yelp from Bob as a bright yellow splatter of paint smacked into his gut.

"Let's go, go, go!" she cried to Lauren and Trish, lurching from behind the tree and taking off at a dead sprint. She heard the crack of twigs below their feet, their panting breaths as they ran behind her.

Suddenly she heard a _thunk_ and a shriek from Trish. Chase skidded to a halt, diving for cover behind another tree, motioning for Lauren to get down. Trish rolled on ground, yellow paint over her right breast.

"Fucker shot me in my tit!" she shouted. "Goddamn, that shit hurts!"

Chase whirled around, scanning the surroundings again. Try as she might, she couldn't make out the two CIA agents lurking. She smirked to herself. Didn't mean they were going to win, though. She'd see to that.

She glanced at Lauren and made a forward chopping motion with her hand. She ducked out into the open and started running, Lauren on her heels.

There, to the right.

She saw the bright red flash and jumped into a forward rolling somersault, the ground biting hard into her shoulder just as Lauren screamed. As Chase rolled up into a crouch on one knee, she glanced back and saw Lauren had been hit square in the chest.

"That better not have been you, FDR!" she shouted.

Chase turned forward. It was just her and them now. Agent against agent. Her lips curled into a smirk; she realized she'd never properly paid either of them back for that interrogation snafu. Now, she was going to pay their asses back in spades.

"Go get 'em, Chase," Lauren panted. "You have my authorization to fuck them up."

Chase grinned, her eyes narrowing. She snapped a sharp salute. "Yes, ma'am."

"Yeah, fuck 'em for me, too!" Trish shouted from behind them where she still lay on the ground. "Well, not like that. But you know what I mean. Actually that way would be fine with me, too. So yeah, fuck 'em, as hard as you can!"

Chase shook her head and darted forward. Her ultimate goal was the wooden structure about five hundred yards ahead, holding two flags, a red one and a green one. She was going to take them both.

She took five running steps when she heard another muted _thunk_ and ducked instinctively, going into another forward roll. A bright yellow ball of paint splattered against the tree right next to where she'd been standing. She looked up and saw a streak of red moving through the bushes to her right. She gritted her teeth and took off after it, barreling through the forestry. The path broke off a dozen feet ahead, one side angling upward, the other ending at a narrow stream; the way ahead past the stream led to a direction closer to the wooden structure.

She saw FDR, sprinting for the stream.

She took off, running hard for all she was worth upward along the angled path. When she was in just the right spot, she leapt over the side of the ravine, effectively cutting FDR off. While she was in midair, she pointed her paintball gun at his face with one hand and extended her middle finger with the other. She had just enough time to relish the shock and dismay registering on his face before she pulled the trigger, a paintball splattering hard against the base of his throat and pooling around his upper chest. The impact sent him toppling over backward in the stream, his breath leaving him in a whoosh.

Chase landed hard on the ground, bending her knees to absorb the shock of her landing, sticking her butt out for balance. She was now a hundred yards closer to the flags. She raced forward, leaping over a wooden barricade in her path, before jumping through another stream. She eventually came to a long netted obstacle, the last one before the last hundred yards that would get her to the flags, and threw her gun to the side. She leapt onto the net and quickly started to scale it. She was almost to the top when a paintball went off, right next to her left hand. She whirled around, looking for Tuck, seeing him just below her but on the other side of the net.

_Fuck that! _she shouted to herself, scrambling the rest of the way. She ran across the wooden platform the net stretched up to before jumping back on the dirt path that wound downward.

Another _thunk_ of the paintball gun met her ears and she ducked, the paintball going wide and splattering against a tree ten feet away. She ran faster, leaping over a moat, seeing the three wooden posts of graduating heights twenty feet ahead of her that led to the window of the structure, where the flags billowed gently in the wind.

She had taken three giant running steps toward the first post when Tuck emerged from behind a tree, his paintball gun trained on her.

"Hello, love," he said pleasantly. He glanced her over. "Where is your gun?" he asked, sounding mildly flabbergasted.

Chase lifted her hands in the air off of instinct. "Ditched it," she replied. "It was getting in the way."

"Your only defense was getting in your way?" Tuck repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes," she replied coolly.

Tuck sighed, his paintball gun still trained on her. "You realize you just forfeited, right?"

Chase smirked and shook her head. "No, I didn't," she answered softly.

"How do you figure? You're defenseless."

"I don't need a gun to win," she said, "and I'm _far_ from defenseless." Before he could make a move she barreled toward him, lowering her head and tackling him to the ground. His gun went flying as they rolled over and over from the momentum. He quickly flipped her over his head, slamming her hard onto her back as he scrambled to his feet toward his gun.

Chase grunted with pain and her hand flew out, grabbing his ankle. As he went over, she rolled to her feet and made for his gun. She had just swept it into her hands and turned toward him, gun out, when his hand chopped down on it, knocking it from her grasp. She growled and grabbed his hand, darting around him and twisting it behind his back. He hissed in pain and took a quick step back, positioning his foot just behind hers and ducking and twisting out of her grasp to the side. He used the momentum against her as he turned and she toppled back. He reached out a hand to grip her waist and it was as though he was dramatically bending her back during a tango. He grinned and leaned down to kiss her, but she twisted and ducked herself and rolled under his arm, giving him a firm pushkick to get him away. He whirled to face her, seeing her hopping lightly from foot to foot, adopting a Muay Thai fighting stance. She smirked at him.

Gamely, he dropped into a boxing stance and they danced around each other. He finally lashed out with a jab which she ducked easily, still hopping from foot to foot, her loose fists up in guard. He jabbed out again and when she ducked that, he swung out with a hook. She barely ducked it, but grabbed his arm with her opposite hand while her front hand shot a smart backhand slap across his face. His head snapped back, his jaw stinging, and he flexed it, watching her dance back with a naughty grin.

She was on the defensive, not engaging him first but watching him carefully to see what he'd do next. Her eyes were glued to his shoulder-line to see from where his next punch would come.

He launched an attack toward her, starting with a jab-cross-hook combo; she deflected all his punches but he used his leg to wedge around hers, throwing her off balance, taking her out of her guard. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides with one arm, the other one wrapping tightly around her shoulders and up by her neck. She jerked in his arms but she wasn't going anywhere.

"Give it up, darling," he panted in her ear. "I've won." He kissed her jaw, enjoying the little growl that came from her throat.

"You wish!" she hissed back, wrenching one arm from his grasp. She brought it straight up through his arms and turned simultaneously. She grabbed one of his arms and took a running sideways step, then used the momentum to hurl him over her shoulder onto the ground hard, flat on his back. As the air _whooshed_ from his lungs, stunning him for a moment, she disappeared; as he shakily lifted his head, she leapt back onto his chest, holding his rifle. She pinned his arms with her knees and grinned down at him.

"Sorry, Tuck," she said, "but it looks like _I've_ won." She lowered her face to his and gave him a chaste peck on his lips before leaping agilely off him. She continued her run toward the posts, leaping onto the first as he struggled to his feet.

"I don't think so!" he shouted. She leapt onto the second post from the first as he made it to the the first one. The posts emerged from a swampy moat and he balanced precariously on one foot. As he prepared to leap for the second post, she turned, balancing on the ball of one foot, and grinned at him the instant before she lifted the paintball gun and squeezed the trigger. The paintball slammed into his chest, the impact knocking him into the water. By the time he rose spluttering to his feet, she was standing on the platform of the structure, a flag in each hand, grinning down at him.

As he struggled to catch his breath, he heard the others coming up behind him. Lauren and Trish were cheering, and after a moment, FDR and Bob started clapping reluctantly, grins of grudging admiration on their faces. Tuck turned back around to face Chase and she smiled wickedly down at him, her hands on her hips.

"All right, all right," he laughed, waving her downward. "I'll say it, all right? You've won. Now get down here."

He reached up for her as she sat down on the ledge, preparing to lower herself. He caught her around the waist and lifted her down. She bounced slightly as she came to the ground, her hands resting lightly on his chest as he met her gaze.

She was streaked with mud and dirt, her clothes ripped and stretched from their tussle, but her eyes were bright. His heart began to beat a little faster as her eyes smoldered into his, biting her bottom lip naughtily.

"I want a rematch later," he whispered, his eyes moving to her lips. They parted but before she could reply, FDR came up to clap them both on the shoulder.

"All right, fine, girls rule and boys drool. Let's get back to the hotel, huh? We need to get cleaned up and get some food before we hit the strip club. I'm starved!"


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N - What's this? Looks like we have a short fluff chapter here for you all :-) ENJOY! R&R please, because reviews make me squeeeeeee. And the more I squee, the more I want to finish a story (don't worry, I have this one plotted out from start to finish). Anywhoo...ENJOY!**

**Chapter 22**

"Ladies!" Trish's bellow accompanied her sharp knock on the door. "Open up!"

Chase stepped over to the door and opened it, letting out a low whistle. Trish was wearing a tight, one-shouldered black dress and tall black stilettos, her dark blonde hair twisted up. She was holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and a designer clutch purse in the other.

Trish had mandated that the dress code for the night for _both _the men and the women was to be "sexy" in light of the trip to the strip club, so Lauren was dressed in an equally tight white sleeveless scoop-neck dress, her shoulder-length bright blonde hair fluffed out in waves around her face. The stark bridal whiteness of her dress set her golden California tan off to perfection; her shapely legs were on display in a pair of white peep-toe pumps. Chase wore a pair of lavender, sailor-style high-waist shorts and a cropped, cream-colored lace short-sleeved blouse. She wore tan sling-back stilettos and left her hair flowing down her back.

"Wow," Trish said, shaking her head. "We are some sexy fucking bitches. Those assholes next door will not even know what hit them. We are all going to get laid so hard tonight." She paused for a beat. "Well, I guess only I will, since Lauren still has one more night and well, I don't know what the fuck is up with you and Tuck."

"I definitely won't be getting laid tonight, I can assure you of that," Chase said with a laugh.

"That's a shame," Trish said. "Because your ass looks incredible in those shorts. _I_ would fuck you."

"Thanks," Chase laughed. "Now, how about some of that tequila?"

"Hey, don't threaten me with a good time." Trish set the bottle down on the small table nearby and glanced around. Lauren produced three plastic cups and a salt shaker.

"No limes," she said apologetically.

"I'm good," Chase said. "I don't need any of that."

Trish poured out three shots, which Chase felt were actually more like doubles. Trish and Lauren had just poured salt on their hands when there was a knock on the door.

"Ladies, let's go!" FDR shouted from the other side.

"Just a minute!" Trish yelled. "All right, do it fast. Down the hatch. Like you're swallowing cum because let's be honest, none of us really likes it. I mean, _really_."

Chase nearly choked, half her shot pouring down her throat as Lauren laughed out loud. Chase finished her shot, the liquor burning down her throat and in her chest.

Lauren slammed her plastic cup down and scooped up her clutch, doing a little shimmy. "Come on, let's go! I want to see my man!"

Chase could tell that Lauren was already feeling the shot, and she had to admit she was, too. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and she was starving. Hard liquor on her empty stomach sent waves of delicious dizziness right to her brain. She scooped up her own clutch and followed the women out the door.

All three men, even Bob, looked perfectly handsome in their suits and button-ups. Chase's eyes settled on Tuck and she licked her lips as he met her gaze. He looked especially sexy and from the slight glassiness to his, FDR's and Bob's eyes, she could tell they'd been drinking as well. As Bob grabbed his wife's ass and FDR gaped over his beautiful fiancée, Tuck's eyes smoldered at her as he stepped up toward her. He surprised her by grabbing her waist, his fingers stroking her bare skin, and dipping his head to speak into her ear.

"You look extremely sexy," he murmured and a pleasant shiver rolled through her as she discreetly inhaled his cologne.

"Say that again," she said throatily back in his ear, her lips brushing his lobe. "Because your _accent_ is sexy."

They were both a little buzzed, which only served to bring out their forwardness. Chase could tell that Tuck was going to be in a touchy-feely mood with her tonight, and that was just fine with her. As they piled into the elevator, Chase glanced around, seeing that everyone seemed to be in a sexy mood. FDR and Lauren were outright making out in the corner and Bob was nuzzling Trish's neck.

"Hey!" Chase called, kicking a leg out vaguely toward Lauren and FDR. "Knock it off, not-yet-newlyweds! Isn't this against the agreement?"

FDR pulled his lips from Lauren with a little smack. "It only counts if there's penetration of some sort," he explained. "As it stands we're just kissing."

"I can see penetration from here," Chase said, staring pointedly as Lauren snaked her tongue over FDR's top lip.

"Not the kind I'd prefer," FDR replied before returning to Lauren's lips.

Chase let out a tipsy laugh which immediately died in her throat when she felt Tuck's hands encircle her waist and pull her back against his chest. As he lowered his lips to her ear, she could smell a heady mixture of his cologne, shampoo, and scotch coming off him and she wanted to bottle it up and pour it all over herself. She resisted the urge to slide her hand behind his head and instead chastely placed her hand over one of his on her waist as they squeezed her gently.

"I can't seem to keep my hands off of you, love," he murmured in her ear. "I hope that's not a problem for you."

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the tip of his tongue flick her earlobe and quickly glanced around to see if anyone else noticed.

"Not yet," she whispered back huskily. "But I'll be sure to let you know if it becomes one." She couldn't stop staring at his lips, his full, deliciously luscious lips, right in front of her face.

"Is that really possible?" he murmured back, and his hands gripped her waist and pulled her back on him, subtly grinding his hips against her until she gasped softly in his ear. "I'll take that as a no."

"You better behave," she whispered, slapping at his hands lightly. He only grinned and lifted his hands in the air before dropping them onto her shoulders and squeezing gently.

Once they hit the ground floor, they hailed a cab. They had already decided to go to the Social House for sushi and drinks; it was hailed as one of the best places for sushi on the Strip. Once they arrived, they were seated on trendy leather benches with a low table in front of them. The girls drank lemon drops while the guys opted for Japanese beer and sake.

Trish was in rare form and even Bob was getting into the spirit, unashamedly chiming in with her crazy sexcapades and one-liners. Chase laughed to herself; the entire group had been taken over by some overtly sexual spirit. She wasn't sure if it was the strip club outing or the liquor or both, but Chase knew that it was going to be a very interesting night. She sat primly next to Lauren and Trish, only occasionally making eye contact with Tuck over her martini glass. His eyes bored into her as he smiled, laughed and joked with everyone.

When the meal was over, the ladies excused themselves to take a collective bathroom break.

"There has to be, like, a bar in the ladies' room," FDR announced. "Or designer clothes or shoes or something."

"They _always_ go together, mate," Tuck marveled, shaking his head.

"Could be male strippers or masseuses or something," Bob offered with a shrug.

"Something," FDR said. "Hey, I have to take a piss. Guys come with me?"

After Chase scrubbed her hands at the sink, she left the bathroom as it was starting to get crowded. She stood outside, waiting for Lauren and Trish, the liquor she'd drunk making her head swim pleasantly. She leaned against the brick wall just outside the bathroom area to wait, studying the prints and photos artfully arranged on the wall.

Just then she saw Tuck emerge from the men's room. She bit her lip, waiting for him to get within reach, and when he did, she reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward her. He came willingly, a half-smile on his face. She pulled his head down so she could speak into his ear, his hands coming to the bare skin of her waist.

"Did you like my lap dance last night?" she asked, teetering slightly in her heels.

Tuck pulled back and shook his head, biting back a grin.

Chase frowned up at him. "No? Excuse me?"

Tuck leaned down, pushing her hair over her shoulder to speak into her ear. "It wasn't long enough for me," he replied. "Are you going to give me a longer one tonight?"

"Depends," Chase said, smirking. "How much you paying?"

Tuck laughed. "Paying you? Well…I have a massive tip somewhere in my trousers, if that's what you mean. If you would just reach into my pocket…"

Chase chuckled, gripping his arms as she wobbled unsteadily. "Nice try, Agent. Very nice try. That's not quite the tip I was referencing, though."

"You'll still give me one, though," he said confidently, stroking her waist. "I think your real ambition in life is to become a stripper. You're always too eager to get up on a stage somewhere."

"Hey," Chase replied, pointing a finger at his face. "For your information, I didn't get on any stage last night. Those were strictly private services."

Tuck teethed his bottom lip, bending his face toward hers. "And what do _I_ have to do to get some of those private services?"

Chase's mouth fell open in feigned disapproval. "Mr. Hansen," she murmured, tilting her head as his lips brushed her cheek. "I think you forget yourself."

She heard a whooping cheer followed by a round of applause and she and Tuck slowly broke apart from each other. She glanced to the side and saw FDR, Lauren, Trish and Bob standing in a line, watching them and applauding.

Chase expected Tuck to let her go but his hands tightened on her waist as he laughed back at them, shaking his head.

"Let's go!" Lauren exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I'm ready to see some naked ladies!"

"Let's go," Tuck repeated to Chase, his hand moving from her waist to take her hand. "I'm in a hurry to sample these private services again."

Lauren decided she wanted to go to Spearmint Rhino, one of the highest rated strip clubs in Vegas. She had originally mentioned wanting to go to Sapphire, but Chase had begged her not to. She didn't think she'd ever be able to set foot in that place again.

When they arrived, they immediately claimed a table near the back of the room for privacy and a waitress came by to take their drink orders. They bought Lauren lap dance after lap dance; at first, it was hilarious to see how uncomfortable she was, but the more drinks she had, the more relaxed she became. They offered to buy FDR a lap dance as well but he loyally said the only lap dance he wanted was from his fiancée. Lauren rose and made her way to him, making everyone laugh with her drunken gyrations but FDR seemed to love it anyway. Then Trish got into the act, but it was pretty clear that this was not Bob's first lap dance at her hands.

Chase drained the last of her martini and cut her eyes at Tuck, who glanced slowly in her direction. She grinned and tilted her head back, knowing he was watching as she arched her back slightly and shook her long hair out down her back before rising out of her chair. She walked slowly over to him, his eyes never leaving her as he brought his beer bottle to his lips. She reached him and leaned down in front of him, her hands gripping the arms of his chair. She pushed it back until it hit the wall and they were, mostly, out of the view of everyone else.

The song that was playing was vaguely familiar but he was more concerned with the dancer in front of him. She rubbed her cheek to his lightly, her hair brushing his chest, before she turned slowly and sat down backward in his lap. He held his breath as he watched her move. Although she'd been incredibly sexy to him at Sapphire, this was a little different because she was doing it because she wanted to, not because she had a "cover" to maintain, a mission to accomplish.

He hissed a breath when her rear end ground back against his crotch hard, the friction causing a delicious warmth and resulting in his immediate hardening. She felt it, leaning back against his chest. Her face turned toward him, one of her hands snaking up and around him to cup his head and pull it closer. Her teeth nipped his lip, pulling a groan from him as he ground his hips up into her slightly, his hands running over her stomach and down to her hips.

"Uh-uh," she whispered, pulling his hands off her. "No touching."

His hands settled back on his armrests, tightening as she continued to roll her hips on him.

"Fuck," he hissed, watching as she rose off him and bending over right in front of him, her ass practically in his face as she moved her hips to the beat. He wanted to run his hands up the back of her thighs but he didn't, staring at her backside hungrily. She flung her head back, her hair flying, and twisted around to face him. She swayed to the music as he stared up at her, wanting more than anything to pull her into his lap. She leaned into him, her chest more or less in his face. He broke her rule and dipped his head forward, the tip of his tongue stroking up her throat quickly. She jerked her head back and leaned down, biting down on his lip punishingly.

"No touching," she repeated sharply then lowered herself onto his lap, facing him, rolling her hips slightly. He felt the heat coming from her center, enveloping his hardness and he strained against her reflexively.

She felt him pushing up, his hardness pressing against her where he wanted it to most. She bit her lip and sucked in a sharp breath. This was so much better than last night, Tuck decided, but dammit if he didn't want her worse than ever now.  
She leaned toward him and nuzzled his neck, making him bite his lip. She felt his moan rumbling in his throat.

"Can I touch you now?" he begged in her ear. "Please."

His "please" satisfied her desire for control and she tilted her head back as he breathed his warm breath on her jaw, making her shiver.

"Mm," she purred in his ear. "Just one hand."

Immediately one of his hands came to her hair, gripping a handful, before running it down her back and finding the smooth skin of her bare back between her top and her shorts, his fingers slipping under her top to graze the skin of her ribs.

"How about the other hand now?" he asked in her ear, his lips finding the pulse in her neck.

"I suppose," she breathed back, her eyes closing against the feeling of his lips on her throat.

His other hand came off the armrest and went to her hip right away, squeezing her flesh before dropping lower. She jumped when his hand grazed her rear end then pushed on it, encouraging her to move on him again.

The simple gesture completely undid her, her hormones exploding, and she dipped her head and grazed his lips teasingly with hers, brushing lightly against them before repeating the movement with her tongue. His lips moved against hers, trying to kiss her fully, but she kept moving her head just out of his reach, laughing at his growl of frustration even as her own desire spiked out of control. His hands climbed to her hair before sliding down her back and lowering to her ass. Finally, his hands moved to her thighs and squeezed.

"Fuck, Chase," he mumbled against her lips as he sat up straight. "You're such a tease."

She slowly pushed away from him, biting her lip. They needed to slow their roll; they were in public even if they were somewhat hidden. She stared down at him as he looked back up at her. He reached up to stroke her cheek and gave her a half-smile as her hands fisted into his shirt. She was drunk off her lust for him, drunk from the alcohol she'd drunk and the feeling of his skin against hers.

"Better slow it down," she murmured, rising from his lap. He tilted his head back, shaking it quickly in frustration before hopping to his feet and reaching for her. His fingers grazed the skin just above waistband of her shorts briefly.

"Time to head out, guys," FDR said. "My fiancée has gotten me significantly horny now with no outlet for release, so that means it's time." He glanced at Trish and Bob in the corner, in a tight clinch. "Hey," FDR added louder. They continued to ignore him, so he picked up his glass of ice and threw it at them. They broke apart with a chorus of angry yowls.

FDR grinned. "Should have been listening! Come on, let's go."

They hailed a taxi and piled in, heading back to their hotel. Chase and Tuck stood on opposite sides of each other in the elevator; she didn't trust herself to be right next to him without jumping on him. As it was, they eyed each other across the small space.

Finally, the elevator reached their floor and they filed out. With a yawn, FDR turned to Lauren. "We got an early call tomorrow." He grinned at her. "Make sure you get plenty of sleep, Future-Mrs.-Foster."

"I will, future husband," she replied, leaning up to kiss him goodnight.

"One more night," FDR groaned against Lauren's lips. "Just one more night."

"It will all be worth it," she murmured. "Good night."

"Yeah, yeah," Trish said quickly, anxiously yanking on Bob's arm. "Night-night everyone. See you girls in the morning. C'mon, Bob…"

Chase glanced at Tuck. Her body flushed with warmth when he slowly licked his lips, his eyes travelling over her slowly.

"Sweet dreams," she said softly.

"And to you," he replied, his rich, deep voice laced with promise.

FDR and Tuck, and Lauren and Chase, retreated to their separate rooms. Once they were changed and climbing into their beds, Lauren smirked at Chase.

"One more night for you, too," she teased. "The sexual tension between you guys is almost unbearable."

Chase just laughed. _If you only knew_, she thought wryly.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N - here's another one for you lovelies! I'm on writing kick right now...which is bad because I'm at work...the things I do for love :-) You know what you can do to show me that you love ME? R&R! Enjoy :-)**

**Chapter 23**

"Rise and shine!"

Chase leaned over Lauren and grinned down at the blonde. She was lying in bed still, a pillow over her head.

"Five more minutes, please?" came her mumbled plea.

"C'mon, Lauren. You're getting married today! We have a spa day to get to!" Chase couldn't help feeling a little sweet vengeance; now Lauren knew how it felt to be forced awake before she was ready. "It's your _wedding day!"_

Trish had arranged for a relaxing spa day with various services, manicures, pedicures, hair, in preparation for Lauren and FDR's big day, including Nana and Lauren's mother. The guys including Nana's husband and Lauren's father, were going to play 18 holes of golf, have lunch and in general relax before the ceremony at five that afternoon, to be held within the Venetian. They had been reassured that everything was going off without a hitch, and all they needed to do was show up at four for separate pictures and linger afterward for group pictures.

After she finally pulled herself out of bed and showered, Lauren informed Chase that outside of family, they had decided not to invite anyone else, and would have a formal reception for friends, co-workers and extended family when they arrived back in LA. She and Tuck had wanted only their family and closest friends present for the actual ceremony.

"So I'm a wedding crasher, then," Chase had joked good-naturedly. "I can wait outside…"

"No!" Lauren exclaimed. "Oh, God, no. That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. That came out _all_ wrong."

"It's fine, don't worry," Chase chuckled. "Let's get this show on the road!"

Lauren held very still for a moment, then let out a high-pitched shriek. "I'm getting _married!"_

They met Trish in the hallway then headed downstairs to meet Nana and Mrs. Scott. They ate breakfast inside the Venetian then headed outside into the bright, cheery Nevada sun.

Chase had gotten a couple massages in her time, but her work schedule generally made it impossible to pamper herself, so she was completely blown away by her spa experience. She was given a thick, soft robe to change into, which she spent much the entire day in. She had a massage, a facial, and then the entire group was brought together to get manicures and pedicures after they were served lunch. Chase accepted a champagne flute filled with a mimosa from Trish and settled back into her chair.

"Feeling relaxed, Lauren?" Nana called from her chair.

Lauren was positively glowing. "_So _relaxed. Thank you all so much!"

"We love you, honey," her mother chimed in with a smile.

"To Lauren!" Trish called, raising her flute. Chase lifted hers along with the others and joined in the toast.

"To Lauren _and_ FDR," Mrs. Scott added. "And lots and lots of babies."

When their digits were properly clipped, filed, and polished, they were ushered into another room to get their hair and makeup done. Lauren wanted a simple updo involving a braid and a chignon, and added a large white lily hair accessory to complete her look.

When they were all dressed in their street clothes again, they split off to go back to their hotels to get dressed. Mrs. Scott and Nana leaned in to give her light kisses and hugs.

"See you soon," Nana said.

"Can't wait to see you in your dress!" her teary mother exclaimed.

It was three by the time they returned to the Venetian. Trish and Chase dressed quickly and moved to help Lauren into her gown. Trish zipped her up while Chase arranged her train. They adorned her with the jewelry she'd selected, and Chase helped her into her shoes.

When she was completely put together, she stood in front of the mirror, smiling. Trish let out a shaky breath and reached for a tissue.

"You look so goddamn beautiful!" she exclaimed, dabbing her eyes.

"You look incredible," Chase added sincerely.

There was a knock on the door, and Chase pulled it open. It was Nana and Mrs. Scott, both dressed in light, spring-colored formal dresses. Chase ushered them in and they rushed to Lauren's side, exclaiming over her. Chase stood back, smiling, until there was another knock at the door. She reached back and pulled it open. It was a hotel attendant holding a cardboard box. Chase peeked in and saw a large bridal bouquet, a smaller bridesmaid bouquet, and three corsages.

"Lauren," she called. "The flowers are here."

Lauren hurried to the door and waved the attendant in, who set the box down. "Did the guys get their boutonnieres?" she asked.

The attendant nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I just delivered them. Five boutonnieres in total."

"Great. Thank you!" Trish gave the attendant a tip and he disappeared from the room.

"Wow," Chase breathed, leaning in. "That's a gorgeous bouquet."

Lauren carefully lifted out her bridal bouquet. It was crammed with cream and pink roses, white hydrangeas, huge white lilies, and lots of baby breath and smaller pink filler flowers. It was heady and fragrant. Trish's bridesmaid bouquet was a smaller version of Lauren's bouquet. Even the corsages were breathtaking, a cream rose surrounded by pale pink tuberoses and identical tiny filler blossoms. Trish handed Nana and Lauren's mother two of the corsages, helping them pin them carefully to their dresses.

Lauren reached in and carefully handed Chase a corsage, smiling.

Chase was shocked, reaching out for the corsage. "You got me a corsage?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, of course. You're part of the party, aren't you?"

"I – I guess so," she said shyly, pinning it to her lace dress. She was so touched that Lauren had thought of her. "Thank you so much. This is really nice of you."

Lauren leaned in and gave her a hug. "I'm really happy to have met you," she said. "You're an amazing woman. Thanks for being here."

The heightened emotions of the day and the occasion got to her and she felt a tiny lump in her throat. She shook her head and laughed. She wasn't typically a crier but now the urge was upon her.

Trish reached for another tissue. "All right, ladies, let's get downstairs before this gets worse." They moved for the door.

"Wait!" Chase cried, holding out her hands. "We need to make sure the guys are still in their room. He can't see you yet."

Chase went next door and knocked. After a moment, Nana's husband and Tuck both answered the door. They were each holding flasks and were only partially dressed in their tuxes, their sleeves unclasped and bow ties slung around their necks. They both grinned broadly at her.

"Well, my, my!" Nana's husband exclaimed. "Don't you look beautiful!"

Chase touched her hair self-consciously, smiling at the compliment. Between her new dress and shoes, and her side-swept hair do, and now her pretty corsage, she felt far more polished and primped than she normally did, but she was flattered that it was appreciated.

"She looks incredibly beautiful," Tuck chimed in, smiling at her.

"You guys look great, too," Chase said, reaching out to smooth her hands down their sleeves. "If not totally put together yet." She smiled teasingly. "That works out for us. We're about to take the bride down for pictures, so I need to make sure FDR doesn't peek."

"We'll hold him down," Nana's husband reassured her.

"All right, good. Well, you can come down at four-thirty. We'll be done by then, and then it will be your turn for pictures."

"Hey," Tuck said suddenly. He handed her a flat plastic card which Chase realized was his room key. "Would you mind holding this for me in your purse? I don't want to risk losing it and since FDR is moving out of the room –"

"Sure, no problem," Chase replied, taking the card from him.

"Thanks. See you downstairs," Tuck said.

"See you," she replied with a smile, turning and heading back toward her room. When she was sure the coast was clear, she beckoned everyone out into the hall and toward the elevators. When they reached the little chapel that had been reserved for their ceremony, Lauren gasped with surprise and Chase understood why. The room was incredibly beautiful, with wall sconces that cast the entire room in a romantic glow, along with the hundreds of lit candles everywhere. There was a thick blanket of cream and pink rose petals carpeting the aisle that led to the altar, where a white wrought iron trellis was laced with various cream and pink colored fresh flowers and white lights. At the side of the small chapel sat a string quartet, already softly playing various traditional wedding songs.

Chase helped the photographer as he took pictures, arranging Lauren's dress and making sure everyone's hair was in place. She remained behind the camera until finally Lauren waved her forward.

"Come on, get in here," she said.

"Are you sure?" Chase asked.

"Yes!" Lauren said. "Now, come on."

Chase stepped forward and got in the picture with the group, then she and Lauren took one together, just the two of them. Chase glanced down at her delicate gold watch.

"You've got to clear out, Lauren," she said. "I told the guys to be here at four-thirty and they'll be here any minute now."

Lauren quickly hustled back to the little dressing room with her mother. Trish was directed to the back of the little chapel to wait for Tuck, who was her wedding partner. Chase took a seat near the front on Lauren's side. The men finally arrived and went through various pictures with the photographer. FDR was grinning ear to ear and he and Tuck took several pictures together. Chase noticed that they must have finally found out how to tie the bowties.

Finally, they were ready to begin. The string quartet began playing "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" as Tuck and Trish joined together at the back of the chapel and walked down the aisle. As he passed her, Tuck gave Chase a lingering smile before stepping up behind FDR at the altar. Trish took her place at the front with small space for Lauren. Then the music shifted to "Canon in D" and everyone stood as Lauren entered the chapel on her father's arm. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she held it together. Chase glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see FDR's eyes shining in the glowing light. She smiled to herself, watching as Lauren's father reached out to firmly shake FDR's hand. Mr. Scott spoke a few words into his ear and Chase saw FDR nod several times before clasping his new father-in-law's shoulder and moving to take Lauren's hand.

They had elected to exchange their own personal vows, and Chase was surprised when she felt her own eyes prick with tears at the loving words the couple exchanged. She swallowed hard against the little lump in her throat. She caught Tuck's gaze and his eyes widened in surprise, seeing her teary. She gave him a little smile and rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly.

Bob was weeping openly next to her and kept trying to hand her a tissue, which she kept pretending to ignore. Finally with a sigh, she snatched it from his hand and dabbed her eyes. She glanced back up at Tuck, who had a fist to his mouth, pretending to clear his throat but she knew he was really laughing at her.

The ceremony came to a close with a kiss between the newly married couple, FDR taking her into his arms and twisting her around, bending her backward gracefully and pressing his lips to hers. Chase stood with everyone else, clapping enthusiastically as they made their way to the back of the chapel. Tuck and Trish, arm in arm, followed behind them, and then Lauren's parents and FDR's grandparents followed suit. Chase and Bob brought up the rear.

"Let's go, Bob," Chase said, winding her arm through his. He patted her hand and they joined everyone out in the hall, where they were all hugging, kissing, congratulating the new couple. Chase disentangled herself from Lauren's arms to be scooped into FDR's.

"Did you take care of it?" he asked in her ear.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Everything is squared away."

He nodded and grinned at her, then released her. He had asked if she would take care of moving all of Lauren's things from their room up to the honeymoon suite he planned to surprise her with later in the evening. Chase had made arrangements earlier for hotel associates to clear all of Lauren's things from the room. Chase had subtly packed up all of her own items so they wouldn't be picked up mistakenly. By now, all of Lauren's belongings should be in the suite.

Another pair of arms pulled at her and she turned, smirking when she saw Tuck. He was grinning at her. "I never took you for a wedding marshmallow," he said in her ear.

"Hey," she said with a shrug. "Even I am capable of some emotions." She glanced over her shoulder where the photographer was ushering them back in.

"Looks like you're back on, best man," she said, shoving him back toward the chapel. "More pictures."

The group pictures took about forty-five minutes and once again Chase was invited to be part of the last few pictures.

"Right here next to me, dear," Nana said, reaching out and gesturing for her. Chase grinned and stood between her and Tuck, whose hands moved to her waist. She knew that the last shot the photographer took had captured her looking over her shoulder and up at Tuck, with him looking back down at her.

After the pictures, Nana announced that they had dinner reservations at a fancy French restaurant inside the Paris hotel. Tuck grinned and clapped FDR on the shoulder.

"One last gift for you, mate," he said as they walked outside. FDR's jaw dropped as he took in the enormous black Escalade limousine, large enough to hold their party of ten. Lauren squealed and ran forward, her slim-cut dress limiting the length of her strides. FDR scooped her up and threw her inside, still squealing. The rest of the group packed in and they headed to the restaurant.

They went through easily five bottles of champagne, along with the various beers and cocktails that were ordered with their meal. As Chase drained her third glass of champagne, she realized that she hadn't drunk this much for several days consecutively ever, not even in college. She had been some degree of intoxicated each day since they'd arrived on Sunday, and she had to admit, it felt good to be more or less carefree. She knew they had a _hugely_ important day the following day, but for the most part everything was taken care of. She'd been checking her emails and ducking off to make phone calls, and had been reassured at least a dozen times that everything was squared away for the meeting on Thursday.

"What are you thinking about?" Tuck's voice said in her ear, and she jumped slightly, realizing she'd been zoning out.

"Just tomorrow," she replied, shooting him a quick smile.

He nodded. "Ah," he replied. "Business, I see. That means you haven't had enough to drink." He reached out to pour her some more champagne.

She laughed and shook her head. "Don't you ever take anything seriously?" she chided, bringing her flute to her lips. She could tell that Tuck was relatively tipsy. Along with the celebratory champagne, he, FDR, Bob, Grandpa (as she'd now come to think of and call him) and Mr. Scott had all drained their flasks in the limo and had gone through several dirty martinis apiece with the scrumptiously rich seven-course meal.

"I do," he insisted. "You'll be surprised to know I take my job very seriously. But I love to have fun as well." He smirked at his best friend at the head of the table. "And _this _particular occasion is absolutely monumental." He shook his head, still smiling. "My best mate just got married."

She smiled at him, enjoying the fond look on his face he had as he smiled at FDR and Lauren. "He really means a lot to you, doesn't he?" she asked.

Tuck turned back to her. "Indeed, he does," he replied softly. "He's…he's my brother."

Chase smiled. "That's really nice, Tuck," she said sincerely. "I don't think I have any friends that I feel that strongly about." She laughed at the way it sounded. "Not that I don't have friends. But…none that I feel a particularly sisterly bond with."

"Well, I recommend it," he replied, reaching for his martini glass to take a sip. He lifted his scarred eyebrow at her as he drained the glass, a half-smile on his face. Chase swallowed hard. He was perfectly dashing, completely masculine with a slight dangerous edge. But at the same time, he had a deeply sensitive side when it came to his family and friends. _He's perfect_, her mind whispered. _Fucking perfect._ She turned her attention back to her champagne glass, her fingers tracing the stem.

She felt his breath on her neck and turned slightly just as his fingers grazed her shoulder, exposed from the wide boat-neck of her jade green lace dress.

"Try not to stress too much about tomorrow," he said in her ear, his deep, rich voice sending pleasant shivers through her, much the same as his fingers were doing. "We'll be there every step of the way. You've seen to that," he added sarcastically, but he was smiling to temper his words. He handed her the champagne flute. "Drink up."

"Jesus, you guys are bad for my liver," she said, but accepted the glass and took a swig anyway.

"I think _you're_ bad for my overall nervous system," Tuck replied. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes as his fingers brushed her chin, gently turning her face toward him. He gave her soft, lingering kiss, his lips like two down pillows against hers.

When he pulled away, she took a deep breath. "I think you're bad for mine," she muttered, taking another large sip of her champagne. She glanced around the table, seeing smirks on Lauren's, Trish's and FDR's faces; luckily, they refrained from saying anything.

When the meal was over, they headed outside. Tuck gave FDR a playful shove. "We've got the carriage for another couple hours, mate," he told his friend.

"You're gonna have to drop us old fogies off," Grandpa said with a chuckle. "We can't keep up with you young people."

"We can't either!" Mrs. Scott exclaimed.

They dropped the parents and the grandparents off at their hotel, then hit the town. Chase couldn't believe she had the wherewithal to stand another night of carousing, but somehow she found herself with plenty of energy. They went from casino to casino, playing roulette and blackjack. Lauren was the star everywhere they went; patrons couldn't seem to get over the pint-sized blonde in her beautiful wedding dress and sad, battered bouquet and she and FDR cleaned up.

"Lucky fuckers!" Tuck exclaimed as they won another hand of blackjack.

"Just newlywed luck," Trish added.

When they finally made it back to the hotel, Chase's head was swimming. She noticed they were _all_ three sheets to the wind. They stumbled into the lobby and then the elevators. Chase pressed the button for her and Tuck's floor and winked at FDR as he made a show of leaning forward and pressing a button for the top floor of the hotel.

"What's up there?" Lauren demanded.

"A surprise for my new wife," FDR murmured back, leaning in for a kiss. "You won't be on the lower floor with the cretins any longer."

"Hey," Chase said with a laugh.

"The honeymoon suite?" Lauren asked, then erupted into an excited squeal, throwing herself into FDR's arms. "Oh, my God. You are going to _get it_ tonight…"

"Yeah, he is," Trish said proudly.

"You children might want to avert your eyes," FDR announced, grabbing Lauren around the waist.

"No need," Chase said, as the elevator stopped on their floor. As Tuck held the door, she leaned over to give Lauren and FDR quick hugs. "Congrats again, you guys. Lauren, take it easy on him. Godspeed, you two." She stepped out of the elevator, and before the doors closed FDR was already yanking off his bowtie and his jacket, leaning into Lauren.

Tuck laughed as Chase took his arm and they headed down the hallway with Trish and Bob.

"What do you want to bet she gets pregnant tonight?" Trish said.

"I hope not," Chase said, teetering along beside him in her tall heels. "They should enjoy each other for a few years first!"

"I think they're about to be enjoying each other for a few hours as soon as they hit that room," Tuck said.

"Or minutes, whatever," Chase added with a smirk. Tuck laughed.

"That's quite true," he said.

Trish and Bob broke off when they reached their room, bidding Chase and Tuck goodnight. Chase and Tuck headed down a few more doors before they reached their respective hotel rooms and Chase realized that for the first time, she and Tuck were really and truly alone. She glanced down at her hands, feeling suddenly awkward and fidgety despite her drunkenness.

"Well," Tuck said lightly. He stood next to her, looking down at her but she suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. He smiled. "Good night, Chase."

She glanced up at him, and he leaned down. His lips met hers in another surprisingly gentle but lingering kiss, his thumb stroking her cheek lightly. He stepped away as she opened her door, leaning against it as she met his eyes.

"Good night, Tuck," she said with a half-smile. "Sweet dreams."

"And to you," he replied like he always did, his hands in his pockets. She nodded and slipped inside, shutting her door and leaning heavily against it. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, her fingertips going to her lips, which were still tingling from his goodnight kiss. After a moment, she sighed heavily and pushed away from the door, dropping her clutch on the nightstand as she took in the room. It felt empty now that it was just her. She sat down heavily on one of the beds, kicking her shoes off. Finally, she fell hard onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Coward," she muttered to herself.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N - Remember when I said I was on a writing kick today? Jeepers. Here's another one! I know you guys are starting to get annoyed with me for my teasing! Stick with me, have faith, it's going to happen. I just need to get through these next few chapters to get there. This one is short, and a tad bit boring - so don't throw tomatoes at me! It might also be loaded with typos. Sorry for the bore but it's necessary. R&R (and don't get mad)! **

**Chapter 24**

She was still lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, when she heard a hesitant knock on her door. Curiously, she lifted her head and slid off the bed, the plush carpet wonderful under her bare feet.

"Whoa," she mumbled to herself, new alcohol-induced dizziness hitting her as soon as she was upright. She stumbled a little going to the door. She pressed up on her toes, peeking through the peephole. She was surprised to see Tuck standing there.

She quickly unlocked the door, pulling it open. She cocked her head. "What's up?" she asked.

He had one hand propped against the doorframe, leaning into it. His other hand was still jammed into his pocket. His tux jacket was open, the top few buttons of his shirt undone and his bowtie hanging untied around his neck. He really did look like a James Bond-type, Chase thought, admiring the view.

He glanced up at her from where he'd been staring at the floor. His blue eyes flashed at her, and she was momentarily taken aback by the look in them. She couldn't figure out exactly what it was, but he looked intense. She could see his hand balled into a fist in his pocket, and she noticed that he seemed to be breathing hard and fast.

He stared at her intensely for a moment, before clearing his throat and glancing back down at the ground. "I'm sorry to bother you," he said quietly. "I realize that I gave you my room key to hold for me, and I forgot to retrieve it from you."

"Oh, shit, that's right," she said, remembering suddenly. She glanced at him, seeing that he was still staring at her with that deeply intense look in his eyes. She didn't know why he would be, but suddenly she was afraid he was mad at her about something.

"Um, come on in. I'll grab it for you. Sorry about that."

She stepped back to give him some room and he followed her in, shutting the door and leaning against it. She met his eyes again, and again was baffled by the look in them. She cleared her throat and turned, moving toward her nightstand where her purse was.

"Sorry," she apologized again, not knowing what else to say. As she pulled the key card from her purse, she thought she would ask him what the matter was; she felt a bit unsettled by his intense silence.

"Tuck," she said, turning around to face him. She held out the key card. "What…what's the matter?" She asked her question almost shyly, dropping her eyes before his gaze.

He didn't answer her, and he didn't move to take the card from her hand. She lifted her eyes to his. She tilted her head in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak again.

"Tuck…"

He exhaled a sharp breath between his lips and crossed the distance between them in a few short strides. He nodded at the key card in her hand.

"Thanks. Sorry to disturb you."

"You didn't –" She shook her head. "What's the matter?" she whispered.

He didn't meet her gaze but smiled at the floor, almost ironically. He shook his head. "Nothing," he said quietly, finally looking at her. He held her gaze for a beat and her pulse sped up to an inhuman rate as she flushed under his stare. He seemed to want to say something else, his lips parting, but instead he shut his mouth. She saw his jaw tense as it clenched and somehow, it was strangely arousing.

He reached out to take the room key from her, and his fingers brushed hers. A tiny spark of static electricity shocked her skin when he took it and she let out a little gasp. Her eyes flew to his and he locked onto hers. Chase was sure she could have heard a pin drop in the silence of the room. They stared each other down for a long moment; then, Chase's tongue flicked out over her lower lip and Tuck's eyes immediately followed it, his bright blue eyes darkening as he flicked them back to her eyes.

Chase let out a shaky breath the instant before she moved toward him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her to him roughly as he flung the keycard away. Their lips fused together immediately, his hands tangling into her hair as she practically tackled him. The momentum sent them back several steps and Chase's hands were at his shoulders, urgently yanking his jacket from him. He shook out of it quickly, flinging it out of the way as he found her tongue with his. He gripped her neck and hair tightly, propelling her forward, causing her to move backward several quick steps. Her hands fell to the button of his shirt as she latched her lips around his tongue. His hands dropped to her waist, squeezing hard before his fingers slid up to the zipper at the back of her dress.

Her head was spinning, overwhelmed by liquor and lust, but she reveled in it. She finally yanked his shirt open, buttons flying.

"Sorry," she panted against his mouth. "You're not getting your deposit back."

"Fuck the deposit," he mumbled against her mouth, pressing his thumb to her jaw to make her open her mouth wider for him to dive inside.

She moaned into his mouth, her hands busy with their next task of pulling his snug white tank top up his body. He broke from her mouth only to pull it over his head before grabbing the back of her neck and hauling her closer. Her hands roamed his body, feeling his taut muscles, his smooth skin, and her desire shot through the roof as she felt herself grow immensely wet.

He finally yanked the zipper of her dress down and pulled it off her shoulders. She shimmied out of it quickly, letting it pool around her ankles and kicking it aside. She was left in her strapless lace bra and matching thong. Tuck hissed a breath as he took her in, his eyes dark with lust. He yanked her in close again, taking her mouth almost violently. She could feel just how much he wanted her, pressing into her hip. She yanked frantically at his belt, her fingers fumbling with the zipper and button as he kicked off his shoes. He shucked his pants as they fell around his ankles, maneuvering his socks off even as he hoisted her up onto the side table by the beds, pushing her against the wall. She bit her lip as she took in the sight of him in his black boxer briefs, straining against them. He held her gaze for a beat before moving against her, pressing her into the wall as he captured her lips again. Her arms slipped around his neck, hanging on tightly. One of his hands slid up to her back, undoing her bra and flinging it aside. He dipped his head to take a nipple into his mouth, making her gasp loudly as she grew wetter still. His hand cupped her other breast and he moved to her other nipple even as his other hand slid along her hip, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her lacy thong. He yanked it down, letting it slip down her thighs, over her knees and around her ankles. He returned his mouth to hers, one hand sliding into her hair while the other dipped between her thighs.

She couldn't contain a cry of pleasure when his large fingers parted her and slipped in between her, feeling how wet she was for him.

"Christ," he mumbled, probing her gently as his teeth sank into her shoulder. He leaned into her, her back braced against the wall. She tilted her head to invade his mouth with her tongue again as she wrapped her legs around him, but not before she used her toes to wedge into the waistband of his underwear and push them down. He pressed up against her and she gasped into his mouth as she felt him, hard, jerking, his hot skin against hers, wet and warm for him.

She stared up at him through hooded eyes, her arms around his shoulders. She didn't break eye contact when she felt his tip against her opening, but as he moved into her, parting her, stretching her, her head slammed back against the wall and she wailed out her pleasure.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried. He reached up to tilt her head back down, his eyes navy with lust as he began to move inside her. Between her extremely long dry spell and his generous size, she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to move for a second.

"Oh, shit, Tuck," she whined, gripping his shoulder with one hand and the back of his neck with the other.

"You all right, love?" he murmured, his breath hitching.

"I'm good," she panted, and started to move her hips against him. "Just don't stop!"

He gripped her hips in his hands as he moved, hitting her slow and deep. His mouth latched onto hers, one of his hands pinning hers to the wall, his fingers splaying out over hers. Her legs were tight around his waist as she thrust back on him, the tension coiling tight between her legs even after only a few thrusts. She knew it wouldn't be long.

She stared up into his eyes, her brow furrowing as she bit into her lip. She whimpered as he picked up speed. His hand cupped her head, keeping her face turned up toward his so he could look at her. He started hitting her off hard and fast, a groan rumbling in his chest as he felt her tighten around him.

"Ah, fuck, Chase," he barely managed, rolling his hips into her deeply.

She panted in time to his thrust, a whine pulling at the edges of her heavy breaths. "Shit, Tuck," she begged. "Keep going…don't stop…don't _ssssstop!"_

It started as a hiss and ended in a shriek as he slid all the way out of her and then thrust all the way back inside her, sliding against the soft, spongy mass inside her, hitting her deeply. The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside of her finally exploded and with a muffled scream into his shoulder she released, her muscles contracting wildly around him as her body trembled and shook. Her nails dug into the flesh of his back and he hissed, his thrusts picking up speed. When he felt her teeth clamp down on his chest he growled, pressing her into the wall as he came in a blinding rush inside her, hot seed flooding her.

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, struggling to catch his breath and she struggled to catch hers. She felt like she couldn't move, didn't want to move. Her arms tightened around his neck. He pulled back slightly to look deeply into her eyes before he lowered his head and kissed her, his tongue slipping against hers. Though she'd just come hard enough to black out, her flesh twitched with want.

His hands gripped her waist as he hoisted her up and carried her over to the bed, ripping back the covers before dropping her into it. She grabbed his arm and yanked him down toward her, and he flicked the light off before climbing in with her.

She wanted to say something, but she had nothing to say. Instead, she just made a noise of contentment, almost like a purr. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her back against his chest, his lips dropping down over her shoulder in slow, suckling kisses. They sent chills rippling over her flesh and he squeezed her tightly. There was no need for words, she decided, her head swimming. Sometimes words just ruined things, and if this was actually just a really great dream, she wanted to enjoy it as long as possible.

:O:O:O:

She awoke sometime later, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. It was shortly after seven-thirty. She felt warmth behind her, and realized that Tuck was still in her bed, still holding her, his breathing deep and even as he slept.

She slumped back against him. It hadn't been a dream after all. She bit her lip, unable to keep a grin back. She felt sore, but it was a delicious sort of soreness that let her know he'd done everything he needed to.

She was tempted to wake him up to start getting ready – they needed to meet with the FBI very soon to start preparing for the meeting tonight. But as she shifted, she felt something firm and smooth against her and she realized he was hard.

She reached down behind her and took him in hand, gripping him, as she swirled her fist up and down his length until he stirred. His hands came to her hips and he squeezed them gently by way of greeting, his lips brushing her shoulder blades. She shuddered at the extra-sensitive sensation it created and slowly guided him to her opening, teasing him and herself by running his head up and down her wet slit. She heard him grunt softly as his hands tightened on her hips.

He let out a soft string of curses as she guided him inside her wet tightness, simultaneously pulling him in and pushing back on him until he was buried inside her. She gasped out loud at the sensation the angle offered her and reached back to grasp the back of his neck as she started to slowly roll her hips back on him. He was hitting her even more deeply than he had the previous night, filling her to the brim and stretching her again.

"Ah, shit," he mumbled, his hands like a vise on her hips as he guided her back on him. She felt the edges of her control start to weaken, the same familiar hot coil of pleasure twisting up tight deep inside her and she whimpered. At the noise, his hand slid from her hip to her breast, squeezing as he teethed her neck, still thrusting into her deeply but slow.

She moved her hips faster back on him, encouraging him to pick up his tempo, but he stayed where he was, drawing her earlobe into his mouth as his pleasure rumbled deep in his chest. The slow, deep thrusts were driving her insane in the best possible way, her pleasure slowly stretching out. When she finally came in a shuddering, gasping rush, the ripples of her orgasm extended long and lingering as he slowly and deeply rode through her aftershocks, leading her into a rapidly approaching second peak.

She whimpered through it, wordlessly pleading with him, and felt the sharp sting of his teeth in her flesh as he came, finishing himself off with strong, deep thrusts inside her.

She lay in his arms, panting, trembling as she struggled to regain control of her basic motor functions. He pressed up on one arm and leaned over her, drawing his tongue up her neck to her ear.

"Good morning," he said quietly, squeezing her waist gently. He pulled out of her slowly and she whined at the loss. He slid out of bed and she turned over, reaching out for him.

"Where are you going?" she asked huskily, realizing they were the first real words they'd exchanged since last night.

He turned and reached for her, hooking his arms under her knees and shoulders and pulling her out of bed. He started carrying her toward the bathroom.

"_We're_ going to have a shower," he murmured, dipping his head to press his lips into her naked flesh, "and maybe a little something else before we get the day started."

She shivered in his arms, anticipation making her toes curl as he carried her into the bathroom, shutting the door with his foot, shutting out the rest of the world for a moment.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N - Hehehe, so hopefully none of you are mad at me for my little trick the last chapter. You already know I'm a tease, so I couldn't resist just one more ;-) But hopefully the chapter made up for it! Now, we're getting down to business and things are about to go cray-cray...Enjoy! R&R!**

**Chapter 25**

"Chatter picked up that the meeting is going to be held on the Encore side of the Wynn property," Chase said later that morning. The CIA agents and the FBI agents, along with SWAT leaders, were holding an impromptu meeting at the Venetian, quickly arranged by Tuck with the hotel management as a matter of urgent federal business.

Chase had a diagram of the meeting space of the Wynn/Encore hotel; it was a sprawling, massive property toward the northern side of the Strip with two sections – Wynn Las Vegas and Encore. It was sort of like the Venetian in that regard – there was the Venetian hotel and connected to it was the Palazzo. Same property, but different areas.

Chase sipped at the latte she held in one hand and pointed to the floor plan with the other. "Logically, there are six boardrooms on the Encore side where the meeting could take place, one of which is on the second floor – the Bach room."

"But there are several hundred thousand square feet of available meeting space," one FBI agent, named Marco, piped up. "Says so right there on the diagram."

"The other potential meeting spaces are ballrooms and lecture halls," Tuck said. "We've already confirmed that they're all going to be used up between weddings and several conventions and conferences this week."

"We've estimated the number of attendants for the meeting tonight at approximately 20," Chase added. "These six rooms are large enough to accommodate that number but small enough to maintain a certain level of privacy. My money is on the Bach boardroom." She tapped a room on the diagram. It was on the second floor and separated by a hallway from a large ballroom. "If this ballroom is booked, then it will ensure that the Bach room has all the privacy it wants," Chase went on.

"Nobody will bother them," Tuck added.

"But there's five other boardroom spaces," Agent Marco said. "How can you be sure?"

"Call it a hunch," Chase said with a smile.

"I don't know how the CIA operates," Agent Marco said abruptly, "but the FBI doesn't deal in hunches."

"Fine," Chase said testily. "I'll make a phone call, pretend I want to book a boardroom for this evening and see what they say."

"Please," another agent, FBI Agent Moore, said, gesturing to the conference phone in front of them.

Chase reached out to put the phone on speaker and dialed the Wynn. After two rings, it was answered.

"Wynn/Encore Las Vegas," a pleasant female voice said.

"Hi there," Chase said, leaning over the table. "I've got a meeting I'd like to book. Small meeting, just a dozen people. I'd like a boardroom on the Encore side."

"Just one moment," the voice answered. "I have five boardroom spaces available on the Encore side."

"What do you have on the second floor?" Chase asked. "I see a space on your online diagram for the second floor."

"We do have a boardroom on the second floor," the employee replied, "but I'm afraid that it has already been booked. May I interest you in a room on the first floor? Although this is short notice, I can still arrange whatever catering you would like."

"I'll get back to you," Chase replied, and abruptly hung up the phone. She lifted her eyebrows at the agents. "Bach room." She reached for her coffee and took a sip, eyeing the agents. They exchanged a glance. Chase redirected her attention to the SWAT officers. "I need two teams," she said. "One outside Bach and one outside the hotel in case anyone tries to escape. You'll need to coordinate with LVMPD to minimize any potential civilian casualties."

"What sort of firepower can we expect from these guys?" one officer asked.

"They're Russians," Tuck said wryly. "AKs, Uzis, any sort of automatic weapon. Explosives. They've got buddies within hotel management so they're surely not going to be subjected to a metal detector entry. Best to assume they're strapped at all times, even for a business meeting."

"And where are you guys going to be?" Agent Moore asked.

Chase shrugged. "Close-by, wherever we need to be. I'll do some recon of the ballroom across the hall from the Bach. If we have to, Tuck and I can crash whatever event is going on in that room to listen in. We'll be wired at all times." She glanced around the table. "Are we squared away, fellas?"

"Squared away," the SWAT officer said immediately. "We'll get our teams assembled and wait for your mark."

"Roger that," Chase said. She glanced at the two FBI agents. "Squared away?"

"Roger," Agent Marco replied. "We've got a room with the surveillance equipment set up. It's a guest room so we're not going to be as close-by as we should. Technically, _you two_ should be in that room." He gave Chase a pointed look.

"Probably, but I can assure you that's not going to happen," she replied. "I'm a very hands-on agent."

"You should have been a cop instead," Agent Moore muttered.

"If you need to plant some agents in the vicinity, feel free to do so," the SWAT officer spoke up. "But SWAT's been briefed, we know our mission and our target."

"We've got the arrest warrants ready to go," Agent Marco added. "And we've got agents ready to go. We're squared away."

"Excellent." Chase reached for her black leather jacket and slid it on over her dark gray T-shirt, then picked up the black Yankees cap she'd brought with her and plunked it on her head. "If there's no more questions, Agent Hansen and I have some recon to do. We'll be in touch as soon as we're ready."

"Roger that." Agent Marco nodded.

Chase glanced at Tuck and flicked her head toward the door. He followed her out, smirking and shaking his head.

"Well, you really are a 'fly by the seat of your pants' type of girl, aren't you?" he asked. "Recon on the day of?"

"You know as well as I do that we didn't have the time or the luxury this week with all the wedding stuff," Chase hissed back, pulling out a pair of dark shades and slipping them on. "Besides…I work well under pressure."

"All right," Tuck said. "I've got the bugs for the meeting room at the Encore. If necessary, our cover is that we're getting married and looking at spaces."

"Too easy," Chase replied.

They hailed a cab and arrived at the Encore portion of the Wynn. Chase glanced at the diagram. "The best way up to the meeting room is to go through the Encore casino, all the way to the back. There's some elevators there we can take up to the second floor." She pointed at the map. "As you can see, there's only just the Bach boardroom and the Beethoven ballroom, plus some restrooms. The hallway dead-ends. There's nothing else up there."

They entered through the casino and hurried to the back. As was the case with the vast majority of Las Vegas hotel casinos, the space was expansive and huge and crowded. It took several moments to work their way through the crowd to the back of the room.

"Keep your eyes peeled for our friends," Tuck muttered to her, scanning the crowd. "Remember, at least a few of them know what you look like."

"I haven't forgotten," Chase said, suppressing a shudder. "Why do you think I'm wearing a hat and glasses?"

"Top of the line disguise," Tuck said sarcastically.

They made it to the back of the casino, coming across a registration desk that seemed to be currently unmanned. Chase went for the elevators and hit the button for the second floor.

It was a short ride to the top, and the Bach room was just around the corner from the elevator bank. Chase peeked around the corner. She could hear movement and chatter coming from the enormous ballroom across the hall, but the Bach room was relatively silent.

She and Tuck crept toward the room and made a quick circuit. There was a large, oval-shaped table in the middle of the lavish room with a dozen plush chairs around it. There were another dozen chairs lining the walls behind them. She nodded to Tuck, who reached into his pocket to carefully extract the surveillance devices, identical to the ones he'd planted at the deli.

"What are you doing in here?"

Chase whirled around, seeing a hotel attendant with a stack of linens under her arms looking at them curiously.

"Ah, my fiancé and I are here looking at room spaces for our wedding," Chase said smoothly. "We thought this would make the perfect space for a gift-opening brunch."

"And the ballroom across the hall would be perfect for the ceremony and reception," Tuck added, folding his arms.

"Would you have time to show me over there?" Chase asked, smiling sweetly. "Just a quick tour."

"Uh, sure," the hotel attendant said. She dropped her linens on the tabletop and beckoned to them. "Come on, right this way."

"You go ahead, sweetheart," Tuck said. "I've got to use the men's room. You take a look and decide…whatever you want."

Chase nodded and smiled for the hotel employee's benefit, and then when she turned her back to lead Chase across the hall, Chase looked at him meaningfully and he nodded. He waited until they disappeared into the ballroom and he quickly sprang into action. He placed the bugs under the table, under a few of the chairs and in the corner of the carpet behind the door. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to the FBI agents letting them know the bugs were in place and to activate their equipment on their end. He waited a beat then said out loud, "Check, check."

After a moment, his phone buzzed and he looked down at the message from Agent Marco: "Roger."

"Excellent," he murmured under his breath, seeing Chase emerge from the ballroom with the attendant. He leaned against the wall and smiled at them.

"Well, what did you think, darling?" he asked.

"It's perfect," Chase gushed. "Right now, they're setting up for a fiftieth wedding anniversary for a very famous Las Vegas businessman. There's going to be a thousand guests!"

Tuck heard what she was really trying to tell him, that with that many people it would be fairly simple for them to use their resources to sneak in relatively unnoticed to be close-by to the meeting room. It was sure to be a high-profile event, but all the better for the Russians – the more attention on the party across the hall, the more likely they were to be left alone.

"So, if you'll excuse me," the attendant said meekly. "I've got to finish setting up in here for a meeting and go across the hall. They need all the help they can get over there."

"Oh, I bet," Chase said. "Sorry to take you from your work, and thanks for showing me around. How much time have you got to set up?" she added conversationally.

"Uh, the social hour begins at seven and dinner's at eight," the attendant replied absently, eager to get away from them. "I expect the guests will start showing up early, though, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Of course, thank you for your time," Tuck said, grasping Chase's arm and leading her away.

"There's reserved tables at the front of the ballroom," Chase said as they got into the elevator. "The tables at the back, nearest to the doors, are fair game for anyone so we need to plan to be at those."

"You plan to be at those," Tuck said. "I won't be accompanying you into the ballroom. I'm going to take post on the first floor." He saw the argument coming to her lips and held up a hand. "There's going to be one SWAT team in the stairwell. But if someone decides to take the elevator, there's nothing that can be done about that except to wait for it on the first floor. The other SWAT team is going to be outside the hotel by the private entrance." They left the elevator and started through the casino toward the front lobby.

"Fine," Chase said slowly, nodding. "That's fine." She stared off into space, her eyes narrowing as she cracked her knuckles. "What about FDR?" she asked suddenly.

"He and Lauren are spending the day by themselves. I have informed him of what's going on, but reassured him this should be a relatively seamless operation and he need not worry."

She gave him a pointed look as they headed outside. "What a load of bullshit," she said. "You know something always goes wrong."

"Right," Tuck said. "But I really don't want him worrying about this the day after he got married." He lifted his hand to hail a taxi and they headed back to the Venetian. Chase glanced at her watch. It was already noon. They only had a few hours to get with the FBI and get set-up, get the SWAT team outside in place as subtly as possible. The SWAT team in the stairwell wouldn't be in place until shortly after the meeting began, as she figured that attendants of both the meeting and the party across the hall might use the stairwell. Her mind was spinning.

She felt Tuck's hand close around hers after they climbed out of the taxi and turned to look into his eyes. He was frowning.

"I won't get a chance to tell you this later, so please, be careful tonight," he said gently. "Our role is truly only surveillance; leave the cowboy shit to the others. We only engage if absolutely necessary."

"Our role," she said, "is to bring down foreign criminals who would commit crimes on US soil by any means necessary." She stared up into his eyes as she pulled her shades off. "And don't give me any of that cowboy crap, Tuck. That's how you and FDR got the rep you two have. You _invented _the cowboy CIA agent. So what you _really _meant to say was, leave the cowboy shit to _you._"

He sighed. "Be that as it may, it's also gotten us into some really dangerous situations over the years, and…" He trailed off, shrugging. "I don't want to see anything happen to you." He held up a hand against the dark look of irritation that fell across her features. "I'm not saying that you can't handle yourself. I'm asking you not to take the risk."

She was silent as they made their way to the bank of elevators to go to the FBI agents. As the doors closed, he reached out and squeezed her hand. "Do I have that promise?"

She sighed. When the doors opened, she stepped out ahead of him, glancing back. "No," she said finally. "You don't. I can't make you that promise. This is what I do, Tuck." She turned her back on his furrowed brow and headed down the hall toward the agents' room.

:O:O:O:

That evening, Chase stepped out of the taxi that pulled up in front of the Wynn, by herself. She paid and tipped the driver, then blew out a quick, sharp breath between her lips. She walked up the sidewalk to the entrance of the hotel, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored doors before pushing through.

She was playing a reporter from one of the local online lifestyle magazines to cover the event. She had a fake press pass in her clutch purse, and she had on a short, black sequined loose fitting dress with three-quarter length sleeves and tall patent leather black pumps. Her wavy hair had been smoothed straight and she was made up like a movie star. Since she had to once again play off "forgetting" her invite, she hoped her looks and charm would be enough to get her into the party.

As it was, her short but loose, somewhat boxy dress did a lot to camouflage the fact that she was armed to the teeth. She had knife holsters strapped around her upper thighs, her baby Glock was strapped around her waist, settling against her side, and she had a .380 tucked into her clutch with extra mags for both guns tucked into her bra. She had a tiny knife sheath for a stiletto knife strapped around her left arm, hidden by the sleeve of her dress. She was also wired, a tiny, almost completely unnoticeable earpiece in her ear so she could her everything and the pendant on her necklace had been fit with a small microphone.

She could already hear that men were arriving at the Bach room for the dinner that had been arranged prior to the meeting. She could hear the clank and clatter of dishes and silverware, and she could hear what had to be a dozen male voices jabbering at each other in quick Russian. She couldn't make out anything that was being said.

As she strolled through the casino toward the bank of elevators at the back, she drew stares, but she simply ignored them and smiled.

"Ok, Chase," Tuck's voice came over her ear tightly. "Let me know when you're in place. Most of the Kozlov men have arrived."

She knew he was pretty pissed off at her for not promising him to take a backseat on this, but she wasn't sorry. She was here to do her job. Moreover, she wasn't _planning_ on using any of the weapons she'd brought…but she was _prepared _to. That was a difference that Tuck just didn't seem to appreciate. She quickly shook her head and sighed. She'd deal with him later; right now, she needed to get her head in the game.

She rode the elevator to the second floor, mindlessly tapping her clutch against her hip. When it opened up, she saw she'd arrived early for the cocktail hour, which had not yet begun. She glanced at the Bach room just as a hotel attendant was wheeling in a covered cart. She saw several men in the room, but then the door quickly shut. The loud jabbering in her ear continued – so loud, in fact, that she was getting a headache.

"Can't you turn it down?" she murmured into her necklace. "These guys are killin' me right now."

"Then we can't hear," Agent Marco chimed into her ear. "I think either you got the real testy earpiece or you just have sensitive bionic hearing."

"Don't you turn it off, though," Tuck warned hastily, recalling the mansion visit.

Someone in the Bach room laughed incredibly loudly and Chase winced. "Ah, _fuck!"_ she hissed. "These assholes are going to have my ears bleeding before the end of the night! Seriously, no one else is having this problem?"

"No," Tuck replied.

"No," Marco echoed.

"Nope," Moore repeated.

She started to approach the elegantly tuxedoed greeter in front of the ballroom but sudden shouting in her ear made her freeze. One of the Russians had started shouting for more vodka over and over in her ear, so loud she could actually hear his voice bellowing out from behind the closed door of the conference. She whirled around and stalked for the ladies' room, grimacing. When she reached the door, she yanked it open, slipping inside and cupping her ear.

"I can't do this," she said finally into her necklace. "Not only am I going to go deaf but I guarantee you that people around me just heard that coming from my earpiece. I'll check in with you guys later."

"No, Chase, wait!" Tuck exclaimed in her ear, but she clicked off, instantly relieved. She realized that she'd just defeated the purpose of being up here, but she thought she could slip away to the bathroom to check in on the meeting or listen against the door herself. She'd figure it out; she always did. In the meantime there was no way she'd be able to maintain either her sanity or her hearing if she left the earpiece on. She had a momentary twinge of guilt, knowing that if Tuck had been angry with her before, he was _royally _pissed at her now, but she'd just have to deal with it later.

She left the bathroom and headed for the greeter once more, fixing her prettiest smile on her face and winking at him for good measure. He practically gaped at her.

"Good evening," she said in her best flirtatious voice, noting that there was another burst of raucous laughter from behind the door to the Bach room.

"Good evening, miss," the greeter said. He looked down at his list. "Name?"

"Lizzie Houston," Chase said brightly, knowing he wouldn't find it.

The greeter scanned down the pages, triple checking his list. He frowned. "I'm not seeing you, Miss Houston. Might you be under another name?"

"It would be _Elizabeth_ Houston, probably," Chase offered, making her voice sound hopeful.

"But Houston is the last name?"

"Yes," Chase replied, letting her face fall slightly. "Am I not there?"

The greeter looked genuinely distressed. "No, I'm afraid not, miss."

Chase reached into her clutch and drew out her press pass. "But I just got this couriered over today," she insisted. "To my office. I'm _supposed _to be here. I'm a reporter from Living Las Vegas Loco. We're doing a _major _ story about this party on Mr. Schuster and his wife." She widened her eyes and batted them slightly.

"Do you have your invite?" the greeter asked politely. "Then I can let you in."

Chase made a show of digging through her purse, and coming up empty-handed. She looked at him mournfully. "I must have left it at home," she said with a rueful shake of her head. "In my excitement to get here early. Is there something we can work out?"

The greeter seemed hesitant, so Chase leaned in conspiratorially. "Listen, I know you have to play by the rules," she said under her breath. "But there's going to be a thousand people in this room in a little bit. I _do_ have a press pass, and all I wanna do is write this story to get good ol' Mr. Schuster some more exposure." She shrugged a little and smiled. "Let me sit at one of these back tables just to get my story. I won't eat or drink a thing. I'll just be observing and at the end of the day, everybody wins. Okay?"

The greeter sighed, glancing around. Finally he looked back at Chase, and nodded. "All right. Just our little secret. You can sit right here." He gestured just inside the doors to a round table set slightly back from the others. "It's an overflow table anyway."

"Great," Chase said warmly. It was actually a perfect seat, allowing her visual access right out the doors across the hall to Bach room. She knew these ballroom doors would be shut eventually, but she'd be able to come and go relatively unnoticed.

"And, miss," the greeter said, causing her to turn back to look at him. "I don't mind if you have a drink or eat dinner."

"Well, aren't you sweet," Chase said, smiling. "In that case I think I will have a drink in the spirit of celebration, since you don't mind."

"Not at all," the greeter said, returning her smile before turning back around to resume his duties. Chase could see butlers milling around the room, taking drink orders from the few people that were there. She assumed that would stop once the room filled up and they would be unable to keep up with the demands.

A waiter cruised by her empty table. "Something to drink, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"Scotch on the rocks, please," she replied. As he turned and hurried off with her order, she reached up to click her earpiece on. She was immediately assaulted with a loud jumble of voices punctuated by a horrible screech of feedback in her ear and clicked off. She was still confused as to why she wasn't able to hear anything clearly.

The waiter returned quickly with her small glass of amber liquid on cubes of ice, setting it down with a smile. Chase tapped her foot, glancing at her watch. It was five minutes until seven. Less than one hour to the meeting. She blew out a sharp breath, and against her better judgment, she took a healthy swig from her scotch. She knew she shouldn't be drinking as she was working, but her nerves were starting to get the better of her. She glanced out the door, still seeing nothing new. She wondered when Kozlov and Andrei were going to arrive. There was a chance they were already in place, but doubtful; as the bosses, they were sure to make a late arrival.

Chase sighed and scanned the room. It was going to be a long, tense wait.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N - Action packed chapter for my lovelies! We're getting close to the end now...less than ten chapters away! Please R&R and, as always, enjoy!**

**Chapter 26**  
Tuck glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes past eight, and the meeting upstairs was in full swing. He was currently lurking by the bathrooms, occasionally jumping in on a table to protect his cover, but not playing seriously as he was focused on the conversation buzzing in his earpiece.

The dinner conversation had been impossible to decipher due to a dozen voices speaking rapidly at once, but there hadn't been anything really to listen to – just a bunch of thugs shouting back and forth about their activities this week. From what Tuck could tell, they'd all been having a damned fine time between the liquor and strippers. Nothing of import was being discussed, however. Finally, at six minutes past eight, he'd heard Boris and Vlad enter the room, and shortly thereafter business was underway.

Chase had given the directive that they were to allow the meeting to continue for a while, and it had been a good one. They'd recorded so much juicy information the Russians wouldn't know what would be hitting them when it was presented as evidence in the indictments of either Boris or Vlad, or both. They had plans for the drug ring to extend past the Nevada-California circle and move East. Vlad had a contact on the East Coast who was willing to invest in the blossoming business and Tuck heard a few infamous Mexican cartels mentioned as potential future business partners.

Normally, he would have been rubbing his hands together gleefully and high-fiving FDR at the recording, but now he was only mildly pleased. The fly in his ointment was the fact that Chase was probably going to do something stupid, after refusing to promise him she wouldn't. And on top of that, she was offline again despite his order not to do so, although her microphone was still picking up and recording. She must have known her mic was still on because she would speak into it intermittently. She'd let them know she'd seen Vlad and Boris walking into the room from her position near the ballroom. Tuck had overheard her entire conversation with the greeter an hour ago, before she'd gone in to take her seat, but she'd been quiet since then, only speaking to alert them of the crime bosses' presence and requesting SWAT mobilization. He was furious with her – he'd told her not to go offline but she'd completely disregarded him. Unfortunately, he had no way of telling her that, nor did he have any way of letting her know that SWAT was on its way. Tuck looked at his watch again. In twenty minutes, they had enough information to bury the Kozlovs and their accomplices. He decided to let it go another ten minutes, max.

"SWAT, move into position now," he murmured. He'd heard no one in the stairwell since about a quarter to eight, and that had been what sounded like a drunken couple heading to the party that Chase was at.

"Roger that," he heard crackling back in his ear.

"Roger that," Agent Marco added. "Agents, prepare for action on Hansen's mark." He directed the last comment to the other FBI agents that were placed around the hotel. He knew there were at least two others on the casino floor with him, although he couldn't pick them out.

Tuck paced, nervous energy flowing through him. The meeting agenda had turned to logistics now, the transporting of the cocaine between the states and how they would get it to the East Coast. A lively discussion ensued about whether it was better to liquefy the drug and freeze it into bricks, to pack it in a different fashion or to use drug mules. Suddenly Tuck heard a loud clattering noise, almost as though a door had slammed open.

"Artur," Boris said in calm voice. "Whatever is the matter? Why are you bleeding?"

Tuck heard a frantic male voice spit out in Russian, "We must leave! We are being watched, there is FBI or cops or something in this building, they are here for us! Vlad, Boris, you must get out of here!"

"SWAT, move in!" Tuck exclaimed, whirling on the balls of his feet as he ran toward the back of the casino. He heard the FBI agents barking orders at their people while chaos reigned upstairs. He heard shouts and froze when he heard gunshots and automatic fire both in his earpiece and resounding through the building. Then, he heard Chase's voice shouting into her microphone, knowing she would be heard but couldn't hear anything back.

"Freeze!" she screamed. Then, more directly into the microphone, he heard, "Back-up! I need back-up up here right now! Where the fuck is SWAT?"

He wrenched open the door to the stairwell, taking them two at a time as he drew his gun.

:O:O:O:

Chase sat at the back of the room as the chatter around her rose to a fever pitch. Dinner had been going for an hour now, the guest of honor at the front of the room with his wife. Just by looking at him, leering at the pretty cocktail waitresses and servers bustling around the room, she could tell that while he might be here celebrating his fiftieth anniversary with his wife, he'd had quite a few colorful tangents along the way.

She glanced at her watch. It was just a few moments after eight. She got up from the table and let herself out. She saw no one in the hallway, but the light above the elevator lit up. She scampered quickly into the women's bathroom just around the corner from the elevator bank, leaving the door slightly ajar.

She heard the elevator doors slide open, voices accompanying them. She darted forward to peek around the corner, just in time to see Vlad and Boris giving her their backs as they moved toward the meeting space. She saw Vlad reach up to grasp Boris's shoulder as they disappeared around the corner.

"Packages have just arrived," she spoke quietly into her necklace. She knew that even though her earpiece was offline they could still hear her. "SWAT team, begin mobilization."

She moved quickly back across the hall, peeking over her shoulder toward the Bach room. The door was shut tightly. She realized she'd been in such a hurry to get to the bathroom she'd left her clutch on her table, like a complete asshole. She slipped back into the ballroom and received a number of dirty looks – Mr. Schuster had just risen to the podium to give a speech. Chase slid into her seat. She glanced at her watch. She'd give it another few minutes before she slipped back to the bathroom and attempt to activate her earpiece again.

When Schuster finished telling a series of bad anecdotes to warm up to his speech, she rose again, sliding quickly through the door before anyone could notice her. She slipped across the hall, hearing the murmur of a single voice in the Bach room before she crept around the corner to the elevator bank. She knelt down, trying to hear what was being said, but she could only hear the low hum of the voice. She clicked on her earpiece; the thing had to be broken because all she could hear now was a steady stream of static. The volume was now acceptable, but she couldn't hear any voices or coherent words. She wondered if she could fix it and rose to go into the bathroom. She leaned over the counter and examined the piece, trying to straighten out the wire that curved around her ear and make sure it hadn't twisted itself somehow. After fiddling with it for several minutes, she replaced it in her ear canal and clicked it back on. She could hear only slightly better now but it just wasn't working.

Annoyed, she yanked it out of her ear, pulling off the necklace as well and stuffing them both into her purse. There was nothing more she could do up here, and she might as well return to the control room the FBI had where she would actually be able to hear what was going on.  
She gathered up her clutch, grateful she hadn't ended up having to use any of the toys she'd brought.

_See, Tuck_, she thought with a smirk. _No cowboy shit tonight._

She pushed out of the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind her as she snapped her clutch closed. She stepped toward the elevators and pushed the button for the first floor, when she heard the door to the Bach room open and close. A moment later, she was eye to eye with a tall blonde Russian with slicked-back hair and icy blue eyes that immediately narrowed at her.

_Artur,_ she thought, her stomach sinking. Her mouth fell open in shock, and his face registered recognition, deep suspicion, and then violence.

"Oh, fuck," Chase murmured.

"You're a long way from the strip club, aren't you?" he hissed, stepping toward her. "You left before I could get a chance to say goodbye." He reached out then and grabbed her by the throat and shoved her backward, hard around the corner. "We're going to have a little chat, you and I!"

Chase grabbed his arm, choking, and tried to swing her clutch at his head with her other hand. He caught it deftly and barreled her into the men's room, all the way back to slam her into the wall.

"Now," he hissed. "Just what the hell are you doing here? I'm not so sure you're a stripping whore, after all!"

Both of his hands were wrapped around her throat. Chase gasped for air as he squeezed, then lifted her foot and stomped on his, bringing her stiletto heel down hard on the top of his foot.  
Artur howled in pain and let go to reflexively grab his foot and even as she gasped air into her lungs, Chase was on the offensive. As he doubled over, she brought her knee up punishingly into his face, satisfied at the sounds of cracking that pierced the air. When his head snapped back, she saw blood gushing over his face and didn't waste any time, lashing out with a brutal, lightning quick right jab, following it up with a sharp downward cut of her left elbow, striking his forehead with the hard downward slicing movement.

He roared in a pained rage and bulled toward her, grabbing her shoulders with his hands as she tried to duck out of the way and lost her balance in her unstable shoes and railroaded her back again. Despite the fact that she was off-balance, she was prepared for it this time and lifted her feet and he pushed her back, virtually running backward up the wall, using his momentum to her advantage as she pushed off from the wall and flipped over his head. His hands scrabbled at air as she landed like a cat on her feet behind him, and then promptly toppled over, her flimsy shoes and high heels making her ankles buckle. She twisted, falling onto her hands and knees and as he lunged toward her, she shot her back foot up and out behind her, connecting her heel with his gut. He grunted deeply and gripped his stomach; she knew taking a stiletto to the gut had to hurt like a son of a bitch.

As she righted herself, kicking off her shoes, he drew a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. Before she had time to reach under her dress to go for her gun, he charged her again, swinging wildly. She tried to sidestep him, flinging up an arm, and she hissed when the blade sliced through her flesh. He sent a hard push-kick into her stomach, sending her flying back into the wall as air whooshed out of her lungs. She hit the floor, stunned.

Artur leaned over and picked up her clutch, unzipping it. He pulled out her .380 and immediately pointed it at her.

"Don't fucking move," he warned, setting her bag on the counter so he could get to the contents better. "I know you're not a stripper by the way you fight."

He continued to rummage through her purse, pulling out her press pass and throwing it to the ground after he glanced at it. His face changed as he found her ear piece.

"Wired?" he demanded, flinging it to the ground. "Who the hell are you that you need a wire?" He trained the gun on her face.

"I'm a reporter," she huffed. "Didn't you see the press pass?"

"I think you are a cop," Artur hissed back, clutching the gun. "I think you are here for me and my friends!"

"Just look at the I.D.," she begged, holding out her hand pleadingly. "I'm a reporter!"

When he bent to scoop the pass off the ground, she knew she only had an instant. In one fast, fluid motion, she yanked up her dress and pulled a knife from the sheath at her thigh and flung it at him, directly into his chest but not deep enough to kill him. He gasped and howled and Chase dove out of the way as he let off a shot from the .380. Chunks of marble rained down on her head from the wall as Artur yanked the knife from his chest and stumbled out of the bathroom.

Chase crawled to her feet, reaching up the back of her dress for her Glock. She ducked out of the bathroom after Artur, scooping up her necklace from the floor, hearing him yelling into the Bach room in frantic Russian that they needed to leave. She dropped to one knee, training her Glock on him.

"Freeze!" she screamed. He swung his arm toward her and she ducked back behind the door as he squeezed off three quick shots. She knew he was down to his last two shots as the .380 mag only held a total of six rounds.

"Back-up!" she panted harshly into her necklace. "I need back-up up here right now! Where the fuck is SWAT?" She had no idea if they could still hear her and she flung the necklace away desperately.

She swung out from behind the door as she saw a flood of men leaving the room. It all was happening so fast, but it felt like slow motion. One man wrenched open the door for the stairwell, and Chase heard faintly, "Stop! SWAT!" Then she saw the man wind back and throw something into the stairwell, slamming the door even as Boris was shoved into a wall. An enormous explosion sounded from the stairwell and Chase was thrown to the ground in the bathroom by the sheer force of the blast, covering her head as the building shook. She vaguely registered screams from the ballroom as her ears hummed. She felt the heat of a fireball exploding out of the stairwell.

She rolled to her knees and angled sharply out of the doorway. She fired three shots in Boris' general direction, but knew she'd hit another Russian instead.

_Boom! Boom!_

Chase ducked as Artur fired at her, the bullets whizzing past her head with frightening closeness. She lifted herself back up, a cold smile on her face as he raised and aimed at her again.

_Click. Click._

He had just enough time to let an expression of dismay cross his face before he met her eyes. She leveled her gun at his forehead and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back and he crumpled to the ground.

At that moment, she heard an Uzi go off and for what seemed to be the millionth time that evening, she hit the floor of the bathroom hard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw what remained of the SWAT team straggle out of the stairwell. They had been a team of six but now only three made their way into the hall, their skin black from the explosion and they were wounded.

They walked right into the Uzi's line of fire and Chase cried out involuntarily as the first two SWAT officers fell. The third dove for cover in the bathroom with her and returned fire, taking out some of the Russians. Others managed to escape into the elevator, leaving only two lieutenants, Boris, and the shooter. The Uzi-wielder sent a spray of fire into the bathroom, causing Chase and the SWAT member to go scrambling backward. At that moment, the two lieutenants swept Boris into the stairwell and out of sight.

"Fuck, he's getting away!" Chase screamed as she lurched to her feet.

She angled out of the bathroom low and shot at the Uzi holder; he ducked and turned and she gasped, recognizing Vlad Andrei. He leered at her and pointed the automatic firearm at her face, but she shot first, managing to shoot the Uzi out of his hand. He dropped to the floor and grabbed up her .380 that Artur had dropped and threw it directly at her face. Chase managed to turn her body at the last second but the small, heavy piece of formed metal struck her in the side of the face. She grunted in pain and when she turned back around, she saw Vlad disappearing through the doors leading into the ballroom.

"Get Kozlov!" she shouted to the SWAT officer. "I've got Andrei!"

Chase shot to her feet and ran after him, managing to shove her Glock into her bra as she dug out a new mag for the .380 and slamming it home and charging it. She returned both weapons to her hands and barreled into the ballroom after him. People were screaming and ducking under tables. They must have heard the explosion and the gunshots and stayed put, as Chase hadn't seen a single civilian out in the hall.

She spotted Andrei as he made his way almost to the back of the room, and she recalled from the floor plans that the curtained back wall was actually an enormous patio. She sprinted after him, winding through tables and eventually jumping on top of a table when too many people crowded around them. She jumped from table to table, upending them as she continued her strange leap-frog trajectory until she leapt onto the dance floor. She barreled past the band, knocking over instruments and music stands as she raced after Andrei. He disappeared onto the patio, sliding the heavy glass door behind him.

A moment later, Chase slammed up against it, and dug frantically through the curtain for the opening to yank it back. She finally found it and slid the door open just enough to get through, squeezing through it and racing onto the patio. Her head whirled from side to side, and there, to the far right of the long patio, Andrei was starting to slip over the side. She broke out into a dead run toward him, lifting her .380 and firing off all six rounds as she ran.

He suddenly dropped over the side, and she couldn't be sure if she hit him or not, spurring herself into overdrive. She slammed up against the carved cement railing and saw Andrei sliding off an awning directly below her, smearing it with blood, and hitting the ground, taking off running. She did the same, barely registering that her bare feet were bleeding. The only thing she could hear was her heart thundering in her chest, her breathing heavy, fast and deep. She flew down the awning, registering vague shock it held up under both of their weights, and hit the ground after flying through the air briefly, like she had done as a child when she jumped out of a high swing.

She grunted as she hit the ground and continued her pursuit, never losing sight of Andrei's back as she ran him down. She saw him skid to a stop alongside a car and open the door. She gritted her teeth and brought her Glock up, wrapping her left hand around the front of her right, firing rapidly. She managed to blow out the back window as he scrambled inside, but the car took off anyway with a squeal of the tires and she doubled over, gasping for breath over a stream of curses flowing from her mouth.

"Fuck," she hissed. "Goddammit. Fucking asshole bastard!"

She remained hunched over, huffing for breath as she cataloged her injuries. She could feel a deep ache in the side of her face where the gun had hit her and some trickling wetness down her temple. She had a long, deep gash from Artur's knife on her forearm and she knew she'd need stitches. Her knees were practically purple with bruises and her bare feet were bloody from running and being scraped and probably stepping in glass and other sharp objects. Her dress was torn and she was smudged with dirt and grime.

"At least I'm not shot," she muttered to herself, her back aching as she stood upright. "Yet."

"Moreno!" she heard from behind her. She whirled and saw Agent Moore running toward her. He looked worse for wear, his clothes rumpled and dirty and his lip was cut. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said, as he took her arm. "Fucking Andrei and his homeboy got away."

Moore half-grinned at her. "We'll get Andrei. I've got something else that might make you smile. And we need to get you checked out." He started leading her back toward the hotel. She saw bystanders gawking at them as LVMPD officers kept the crowd at bay, trying in vain to get them to disperse back to their rooms or hotels. She still clutched her guns, one in each hand, and hesitated for a moment.

"Hold up," she said quickly to Moore, stepping back slightly.

She decided that between appearing unladylike and scaring people, she'd take the classlessness, so she hoisted up her dress in the back and quickly holstered her Glock before pulling the torn, ragged hem back down. She caught eyes with Moore who watched and she shrugged. She tucked the .380 into her bra and followed him into the hotel, leaving bloody footprints on the marble floor.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

Moore smirked and pointed over her shoulder. "See for yourself."

Chase whirled and her jaw dropped. A bloodied, bashed Tuck was leading Boris Kozlov through the lobby as the second SWAT team followed him, controlling the second Russian that had escorted Boris from the second floor. Agent Marco flanked Boris on his other side and Chase could see that Kozlov's face was puffy from the apparent fight he'd had with Tuck and his hands were cuffed behind his bacl. She couldn't stop a slow grin from spreading across her face as she caught eyes with Moore.

"He caught him! He caught the bastard!"

She turned back just as Tuck was passing her. He had blood all over the lower half of his face from getting clocked in the nose, he had an ugly gash over one shoulder and was slicked with dirt and sweat, his clothes torn, but he gave her a cheeky grin as he passed with the struggling Russian.

"Got you a present, darling," he called as he passed, pushing Kozlov out the door with a grunt.

Chase peeked after him and saw there was a SWAT truck in place, ready to load both Kozlov and his crony inside. The people on the sidewalk started applauding and cheering, although Chase knew it was mostly out of the coolness of seeing the SWAT apprehend someone than actually knowing who it was or why he was being arrested. An ambulance had pulled up as well and was idling. Once the SWAT truck pulled away from the curb, the ambulance pulled in to take its spot. Chase and Tuck were led over to the vehicle as a couple medics hopped out. One of them whistled, looking over their wounds.

"You guys took one hell of a beating," he commented, motioning for Tuck to remove his shirt so he could see the gash on his arm.

The other medic examined Chase's forearm. "Gonna need stitches," he said.

"Then do what you gotta do," Chase replied. "You need a step by step tutorial or are you squared away?"

"We should really go to a hospital, ma'am."

"That's not going to happen," Chase said. "So just do it now."

"Ma'am, I really recommend –"

"I get that," Chase interrupted. "But I'm still not going."

"Just stitch her up here, for Christ's sake," Tuck sighed. "She won't quit until you do. She doesn't do well with stitches."

The medic shrugged and started cleaning her wound as the other medic did the same to Tuck's shoulder. She hissed and winced as the needle penetrated her tender, sore skin and she averted her eyes as the medic began to stitch her up. She met Tuck's gaze as he stood unflinching, undergoing the same treatment as she was.

"Could have gone to a hospital, love," he said, his eyes gleaming at her teasingly.

"Yeah, whatever," she said, gritting her teeth against the pain. She examined his face as he used his free hand and an antibacterial wipe to mop the blood off his face. "You're missing everything. Here."

She reached out and took the wipe from him, carefully getting the blood off his face. In addition to his bloody nose his lip was cut at the corner. He gazed down at her while she worked, standing perfectly still, his eyes going over her face. Finally, she finished her work and tossed the wipe aside, meeting his gaze. She couldn't even feel her arm anymore though the medic was still working on it busily.

"You look like shit," she said softly. _He looks awesome_.

He smirked at her. "_You_ look like shit," he replied but his gaze flickered with appreciation before taking on a more serious expression. "I tried to get to you, from the stairwell. I was going to go up with SWAT but then I heard the explosion right before I got up there."

"It killed half the SWAT team," she replied. "I'm glad you _weren't_ with them. Had you come upstairs then…you would have been walking into a fatal funnel."

"I figured you could handle yourself," he joked lightly. "I ran back downstairs into the casino and we had a huge shootout with the Russians that made it down. Killed some, captured others. Not that many made it down. Then I saw Boris with two blokes. One of them left his side and ran into the kitchen. One of the FBI agents went after him, but lost him. We engaged the other one and Boris. I'll tell you, he was a handful." He flexed his jaw ruefully.

"You got him though," she said proudly. Then she sighed. "I lost Andrei," she muttered, lowering her eyes. "And the other Russian, whoever he was. Andrei was upstairs shooting at me. I shot his gun out of his hand and he took off through the ballroom and I went after him. Jumped over the balcony to get him, but he got picked up, by the other Russian that was with Boris, I think. I shot out their back window, but they got away." She shook her head angrily. "I almost had his ass, too!"

"Hey," Tuck said softly, and she felt his fingers grasping her chin gently as he turned her face up toward his. "You did a good job. We'll get him, don't worry. We've got Boris now; we've still got the deli bugged. Andrei won't be going far."

She nodded mutely, the medic finally finished with his ministrations as he snipped at the thread and tied her wound off. The other medic worked on Tuck a minute more before he completed his task.

"Agents," Moore said, waving to them. He gestured to his vehicle. "We'll take you back to your hotel."

As they started toward the car, Tuck glanced down. "What happened to your shoes?" he asked in surprise.

Chase shrugged. "I kicked 'em off. I can't fight in four-inch stilettos." She smirked. "Can't fight _well,_ that is."

The agents pulled up to the Venetian and Agent Moore ran inside to get hotel management. He showed the manager his badge and gestured toward the car. The manager nodded several times rapidly and walked to the car with the agent, climbing into the backseat with Chase and Tuck, much to her surprise.

"The private entrance is around back," he said, directing them around in that direction. When they arrived, and got out of the car, the manager shook all of their hands emphatically.

"Thank you," he said. "I-I know nothing happened at _our_ property, but on behalf of the Strip and, well, Las Vegas as whole, thank you for what you've done." He cleared his throat, turning to Chase and Tuck. "Agents, thanks to you especially. I hope that you'll be feeling better in the morning and I want you to know that as a thank you, I'll be comp'ing your stay with us this week."

"That's not necessary," Chase exclaimed. "We were here for personal reasons, as well."

The manager held up a hand. "I won't hear of it. Your entire party's stay will be comp'd, Agent."

"Thank you," Tuck said, shaking his hand. "Uh, we really appreciate it."

"Of course, thank _you,"_ the manager replied. "And I do hope you'll come stay with us here at the Venetian property again soon. Now, if you use this service elevator to your floor, you'll bypass the main elevators and should be able to get to your rooms without delay."

Tuck and Chase shook hands with the FBI Agents. "You'll be ok?" Marco asked.

"Fine," Chase said with a nod. "We'll be fine. You and your agency did a fine job tonight. Thank you for everything."

"Thank _you. _All right. We'll see you back in LA." The agents bid them a goodnight and got in their vehicles and Chase and Tuck shambled into the elevator. Now that the adrenaline had left her body, she was feeling sore and battered. She leaned against the elevator wall, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. A moment later she felt Tuck take her hand.

"All right, love?" he asked softly.

Without opening her eyes, she nodded. "Yes, I will be. I just want a hot shower and some sleep. And a bowl of ice cream."

With the excitement of the day receding slowly behind them, her thoughts crept back to last night and early this morning. They hadn't spoken of it, their minds immediately focused on their mission, but now, feeling the touch of his hand, that was all she could think of.

The elevator pulled to a stop, and Chase realized she didn't have any of her personal belongings. "Shoot, I don't have a key to my room," she said.

Tuck patted his own pockets. "It would seem I lost mine as well," he said, shaking his head. "I'll run down to the front desk for new keys. Stay here."

Chase nodded and collapsed gratefully into an easy chair in the hallway. She wondered if they'd be sharing a room again tonight, or if last night had been a one-time thing. _Three-time thing_, she thought, reddening at the memory. It had been the best sex she could remember having. She hoped it hadn't been a one-time encounter; after all, Tuck had told her he liked her, hadn't he? Her eyes closed and she recalled the feeling of his hands on her, his lips on her, the feeling of him inside her. He had certainly stretched her out, but in the best possible way and the tender, aching flesh between her legs twitched at the memory.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

Chase cracked her eyes open and saw the object of her lust standing before her, waving a small plastic card in front of her face. She groaned as she struggled to her feet, her knees momentarily wobbling. He slipped a hand under her arm and helped her stand.

"I've got you," he murmured. "Here." He slipped her room key into her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her to her door. "Why don't you take your shower and relax, and I'll go back to my room and give Collins a ring?"

"Sure," she said, feeling strangely let down that he hadn't asked to come inside. "That's fine. Let me know what she says."

"All right," he said gently, taking her room key from her hand and opening the door for her. "Take your time."

Chase entered her room and let her door shut behind her. She sighed. She supposed that the emotions of the week had just caught up with them last night…and twice more this morning.

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I guess," she murmured aloud, yanking her tattered dress over her head. As she made her way to the bathroom she unstrapped the four holsters on her body, letting them drop onto the ground as she went. She peeled off her undergarments and climbed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as she could stand.

Her tender skin stung where the water penetrated her wounds, her feet burning. She knelt down to rinse off all the blood and saw a few minor cuts on the tops and bottoms of her feet but thankfully, nothing too serious. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed herself with a thick, creamy body wash, carefully avoiding her stitches. When she felt human again, she stepped out of the shower and toweled off, leaving her hair to air dry in waves. She dug an oversized T-shirt out of her bag and collapsed onto her bed, reaching for the remote. She knew she should probably call over to Tuck's room to get the download from Collins, but honestly at the moment, she didn't care. She knew he'd let her know whatever she needed to and for the moment, she was only too happy to let matters lie.

A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door and she pulled herself out of bed with a groan. She stumbled to the door, peering through it and saw Tuck.

"Déjà vu," she muttered to herself, unlocking the door and opening it.

He stood smiling at her, looking like he'd had a shower himself, his hair wet and the dirt and grime scrubbed off his skin. He was dressed down in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. From behind his back, he extended a bowl toward her with a spoon in it. Chase peeped inside and saw a slightly melted scoop of vanilla ice cream with what appeared to be raspberry sauce drizzled over the top. She furrowed her brow and smiled curiously at him.

"Room service," he said. "I believe the lady ordered a bowl of ice cream."

She bit her lip. "The lady _did_ order a bowl of ice cream. Is that raspberry sauce?"

"I took a wild guess," he said. "You seem like you wouldn't be satisfied with plain vanilla."

"I do like a little flavor in life," she retorted and took the bowl from him. "Thank you, Tuck. That was very sweet of you."

"You're welcome," he replied.

She stood to the side to let him inside her room, and without the haze of liquid courage, he entered it almost shyly. She shut the door behind him and headed quickly back to her bed, dropping down into it and pulling the covers over her bare legs, suddenly very aware that she was naked under her oversized shirt. She dug into her bowl of ice cream as he leaned against the wall opposite her.

"I rang Collins," he said, watching as she pulled the spoon slowly from her lips as she listened to him. "She wishes to congratulate us on a job well done and wants to see us back in the office tomorrow morning at ten."

"Ugh, that means an early flight," Chase muttered, scooping up another bite.

"Indeed," Tuck said. "She wants the files and the audio clips of all the surveillance as well."

Chase nodded wordlessly, licking ice cream from the back of the spoon. Tuck followed the movement of her tongue sharply with his eyes and cleared his throat.

"She said she'll handle our flight arrangements back to LA and she'll contact me at six tomorrow morning with the information."

"I'll be up by then," Chase said, looking down into her bowl as she stirred the melted ice cream.

Tuck watched her, feeling disappointment flood through him. He wasn't feeling quite bold enough to ask her if he could stay; he didn't want to impose on her if last night – _and this morning – _had just been a fluke.

"Right," he said lightly, pushing away from the wall. "I think I'll go and have a lie-down now."

"Good night," she said, finally looking up at him. She held up the bowl. "Thanks for the ice cream."

He paused after he opened the door, his hand on the knob. He offered her a half-smile. "You're welcome. Good night."

"Sweet dreams," she said softly.

He met her gaze, trying to read it, but couldn't. "And to you," he replied in an equally soft tone. He slipped into the hall, letting the door shut behind him. He paused for a moment, out of the peephole's range, and listened. He heard her move to the door and for a moment, his breath caught, wondering if she was going to come after him, but instead, he heard her turn the lock in the handle and latch the security chain across the top. He sighed, heading back to his own room and flopping down on his bed once his own door was shut and secured.

He placed his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as memories of that morning and the previous night flooded his brain. He heard her soft, breathy moans in his ear, the feeling of her nails digging into his back, how her legs had wrapped around his waist. He had a small nip mark on his left pectoral muscle from where she had bitten him, seconds before he had come inside her for the first time. He knew it had been some months since he'd had sex last, but sex with her had definitely been, hands down, the best he'd ever had. Her flesh was firm and taut but yielded under his touch, her skin unbelievably smooth and soft. He closed his eyes, remembering what it had been like to push into her for the first time, the noise she'd made, the fire that had burst through his own body at the first sensation of her incredible tightness, her wetness, her warmth.

He sighed, feeling his body stir at the memories, and reached for the remote to watch some news to get her off his mind so he could sleep. As he flicked on the television, there was a commercial for the hotel playing. A blonde model was in a pool, holding a drink, surrounded by a dozen men.

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!" she said seductively. Tuck smirked wryly, changing the channel to find CNN.

"Apparently so," he muttered to himself.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N - you guys better put the hot chocolate on, because this chapter is FULL of marshmallow FLUFF! Hope that's ok. R&R and enjoy!**

**Chapter 27**

They were up, packed, and on a plane back to LA by seven-thirty the next morning. They had just enough time to take a cab to Tuck's loft, drop off their bags and change into work attire before heading back into the office.

Chase sat in the passenger seat of Tuck's truck, a stack of files and a disc with the audio recordings from the hotel on her lap. She pulled down the mirror on the visor, studying the nasty bruise and cut on the side of her face. She hadn't even bothered trying to use makeup to cover up the marks. Her arm was bandaged, protecting her stitches and between her injuries and Tuck's, they both looked like they'd been through a war.

He jumped into the driver's seat and added another disc to her lap. "Almost forgot this one," he said. "They split the recordings into two discs."

"Oh, good call," she replied. "Thanks." She met his gaze and smiled. He smiled back, his eyes flickering over her face.

"How's that cut on your temple?" he asked, pulling off for the office.

She reached up to touch it gingerly. "Hurts," she admitted. "But it'll be fine. How's your lip?"

"Just splendid," he answered.

She smirked. After a moment, she asked, "What's the worse injury you ever got?"

"Hmm," Tuck mused after a moment. "There's been quite a few. FDR and I worked a case in New Delhi and I managed to break my leg, my wrist and dislocate my shoulder all in one go."

"Wow," Chase said admiringly. "That takes some serious talent."

"Indeed," he said, smirking and shooting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "And what about you?"

She had to think hard; her catalog of injuries since she'd begun her spy career was vast. "Well," she hedged. "There was this one time where I detonated a bomb inside the Moroccan embassy. I ended up taking some shrapnel."

"How long ago was that?" Tuck asked. He seemed impressed.

"Last year."

"Funny," he mused. "I don't remember seeing a scar when –" He broke off suddenly, flushing slightly. Chase bit her lip, knowing she was red too. He didn't remember seeing a scar when he'd seen her naked the other night, she mentally finished. _Shortly before I had the best sex of my life with the sexiest man I've ever seen in my life._

She cleared her throat as her flesh twitched slightly down between her legs.

"I took the shrapnel in my lower back," she answered quietly.

"Ah," he replied. They pulled into the CIA field office lot, effectively ending the conversation, much to Chase's relief. She hopped out of his truck, and one folder from her stack slid to the ground, spilling photographs and documents across the pavement.

"Dammit, Moreno," she groaned. She set the other files on the seat and turned to start gathering the documents and photos. Tuck came around to help her and soon enough, everything had been collected. He was chuckling softly at her klutziness.

"Remind me again," he said, biting back a grin. "You took formal dance lessons, yeah? Don't they teach you things like grace, balance…"

"Oh, shut up," Chase said, holding her hand out for the files.

Tuck laughed again and placed them into her hand. His fingers brushed hers and lingered for a moment as they locked gazes. Chase almost dropped the files again but caught herself at the last moment. She turned quickly to gather the files up and turned back around, just as Tuck grasped the doorframe of the opened truck door and leaned over her.

"Chase…" he began, trailing off as his eyes met hers. She swallowed and met his piercing blue eyes, noting how they were growing darker as he moved his eyes over her. The twitching between her legs graduated to a full-blown throb as her pulse quickened. _Goddammit, I want him, _she thought ruefully. She hated and loved the physical reactions she had to him; she now knew how good it could be, but it also made her completely crazy. She took a deep breath, inhaling his clean, spicy scent, and it went straight to her head like a shot of good whiskey. His eyes moved to her lips and stayed there for a moment before they slowly moved back up to hers. She couldn't take it anymore and cleared her throat, breaking eye contact to glance at her watch, do anything to not look into his eyes anymore. She held up her wrist, showing him it was five minutes until ten.

"Collins," she reminded him softly.

He nodded, pushing away from the doorframe, stepping back to give her room before shutting the door. She followed him silently into the building, cursing herself for her inadequacy. As they walked through the building, she suddenly heard a round of loud applause and looked up, seeing Agents Boyles, Bothwick and Dickerman clapping their hands and grinning. She laughed ruefully as Tuck waved them off.

"You're my hero, sir!" Boyles called. "And you too, Tuck!"

"Hansen, Moreno," Collins called from above. "My office."

Once they were seated, Collins surprised them by smiling at them warmly. She rose, extending her hand over her desk. Chase and Tuck both got to their feet and took turns shaking hands firmly with the site director.

"You two did a great job in Vegas," she said. "You captured Kozlov and there were no civilian casualties."

"Three SWAT officers died," Tuck said softly, shaking his head.

"That's true," Collins said, "but they gave their lives in the line of duty. That sacrifice will not go unnoticed. You both risked your lives to capture Boris. You should be proud of what you accomplished."

"Andrei is still on the loose," Chase added.

Collins lifted her hand. "I have every confidence we will catch him," she said. "I wanted to let you know that Boris is going to be indicted on Monday morning here in LA. Whistler is going to testify against him and the audio recordings will be presented as evidence. I would like you both to be present although your identities will be protected. In fact, the prosecuting attorney representing the state is going to be arriving after lunch and I'd like you two to go over the case files and surveillance with him, so he's got a good idea of the case." The two spies bobbed their heads in agreement. Collins leaned back in her chair.

"How was FDR's wedding?" she asked after a moment.

"Quite lovely," Tuck said with a smile. "He sent me a text this morning. He'll be returning home later today, and will be back in the office on Monday."

"Good, he can accompany you to the indictment hearing," Collins said. "After all, he's been involved in this case as well." She bestowed a rare smile on them. "Once again, good work, agents. If you'll excuse me, I've got a meeting to attend."

They left her office and returned to their desks to catch up on some emails until the attorney arrived. Chase glanced at Tuck.

"I think one of us should go and check up on the deli surveillance," she said. "The other can go over the files with the attorney."

"Which one would you prefer?" Tuck asked, his full lips twisting into a smirk. "Which one will satisfy most your need for control?"

There was something sexual in the soft way he said those words, Chase noticed, and her face started to heat up. "Either one," she replied, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. "I can either go boss the tech nerds around or I can school the attorney and make sure he gets every detail right."

Tuck laughed. "I'll monitor the surveillance. It sounds like the attorney needs your guidance more than the IT nerds do."

Chase spent the rest of the day in a small conference room with attorney, going over every detail of the case, starting back before she'd even come to LA. She filled the attorney in on what she had researched and what Tuck and FDR had managed to put together. They listened to the audio surveillance which Chase translated. They were going over things so closely that Chase barely noticed how the time flew past until there was a short knock on the door.

She rose and opened it, seeing Tuck. "Hey," she said. "Anything?"

"Hi," he replied. "Uh, no. The deli has been suspiciously quiet. Uh – I'm sorry to bother you, but Katie has a date tonight and wondered if I might be able to pick up Joe. I don't know if you're at a stopping point right now…if not, I can come back…"

"No, no," the attorney spoke up quickly, rising to his feet and gathering the files. "I think that's enough for the day. Can I take these with me?" He gestured to the stack of files.

"Sure," Chase said. "Just be sure to give them back eventually."

"Of course," the attorney said. "Thank you very much for your help, Agent Moreno. I'll see you both on Monday."

"Call me if you have any questions or if anything isn't clear," Chase replied.

The attorney cleared his throat. "I believe you made everything crystal clear, Agent, but I'll keep that in mind." He brushed past her and Tuck laughed out loud.

"You frightened the poor bastard," he chuckled. "You can be so bossy."

"I just want to make sure –"

"That everything's done correctly, I know," Tuck finished, shaking his head. "Come on."

On their way out to his truck, she looked down at her watch, seeing it was almost six-thirty. She hadn't realized that she and the attorney had been at it so long, but she had a feeling that the attorney probably had, explaining why he seemed only too happy to get out of there. As Chase's stomach grumbled loudly, she realized she'd never stopped for lunch.

"I'm starving," she murmured. "Mm…let's see if Joe wants to get pizza."

Tuck laughed at her dreamy tone. "I'm certain that will be fine with him."

The boy was excited to see them both, running toward Tuck and almost knocking him over. He threw his arms around Chase's waist and almost strangled her with the enthusiasm of his hug.

"Hey, Squirt," she managed, ruffling his hair.

Joe kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way back to Tuck's loft, telling them about his week at school, his karate practices and wanting to know how "Uncle Frank's" wedding had been. Chase used an app on her phone to order a pizza and hurried upstairs when they got inside to change out of her work clothes. She sighed happily as she wiggled out of her clothes. There was always something liberating about taking off her binding professional attire and putting on ultra-comfortable loungewear.

She pulled up a pair of cropped black yoga pants and had just dropped a boxy, bright pink top over her torso when she heard a knock on the doorframe and turned, seeing Tuck standing there. His dress shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, revealing a tantalizing peek of the tattoos she knew were scrawled there, and one side of the shirt was untucked from his slacks.

"Hey," he said. "The pizza's here."

"Ok," Chase replied. She smirked. "Is Joe ready for his rematch and subsequent beatdown?"

"I believe so," Tuck said with a grin.

"I'll go down," she replied. "You probably want to change."

She squeezed past him, her chest brushing against him as she went and they caught eyes briefly. She smiled shyly and moved to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"All right, Squirt. Ready to lose?" she called.

"Are you?" he shot back, tossing her a controller. "Let's do this!"

:O:O:O:

Later that night, Chase had another sense of déjà vu, watching as Joe fell asleep on the couch with the controller in his hand like he always did. She plucked it from his fingers and pulled a blanket over him, then gathered up the paper plates and empty soda cans from their meal and took them to the trash. Tuck was leaning against a counter in the kitchen, looking at his phone. He glanced up as she entered.

"What's up?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, nothing," he replied. He held up his phone. "Just got a text from FDR. He and Lauren are back. I was catching him up on what happened."

"That's good they're back," Chase replied. "How pissed is he that he didn't get to play with us last night?"

Tuck smirked. "Quite annoyed. But it was for the best. He's looking forward to the indictment, though."

"I'm sure he is," Chase said, pulling out a roll of plastic wrap from a drawer next to the oven and starting to wrap the leftover pizza slices. She felt Tuck's eyes on her and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"What's up?" she asked again, turning back to her task. "You look like you have something on your mind." _Like I do._  
"Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you," he said, and she turned again and looked at him, her eyebrows lifting in question. He flushed slightly and cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you would like to…do something…tomorrow."

She cocked her head curiously, stacking pizza slices in her hands. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean…" He broke off and laughed at himself ruefully. "I'm not very good at this. A date," he finished. He half-smiled at her. "Would you like to go on a date with me, Miss Moreno?"

She laughed at his self-mocking formal words. It seemed so silly, the idea of him asking her, not to mention ass-backwards since she was living in his loft and they'd already had sex. But she also thought it was cute, and she and Tuck hadn't really spent much real one-on-one, non-work related time together. Certainly not in a "date" atmosphere. So, she nodded.

"Sure," she said with a smile. "That sounds like fun."

"Splendid," he replied. "I have to take Joe to see his grandparents – Katie's parents – tomorrow for a few hours. I wouldn't subject you to that. It would be…awkward at best."

"No, that's ok," Chase said. "I should probably be checking the deli surveillance anyway."

"I'll…pick you up here when I return," he said, his voice lifting in question at the end. "Probably about six."

"Sounds fine," she replied. They looked at each other for a beat before they both started laughing. Chase pressed a hand to her warm cheek. "I'm not very good at this, either," she confessed. "I don't…I don't date."

"Well, then tomorrow will make for an amazing case study in human awkwardness," Tuck said with a grin. "I'm joking. I'm really a lot of fun," he promised.

"I hope so," Chase said lightly, playfully smacking his chest. "I'd hate to be bored out of my skull and then have to come home to you, too!"

They stood smiling at each other until they heard Joe stirring on the couch. Tuck looked quickly over her shoulder in his direction.

"You should go to him," Chase said, touching his arm lightly. "I think I'll go to bed...I'm actually exhausted."

"Sleep as long as you like tomorrow," Tuck said lightly. "Get some rest. God knows you've more than earned it."

"Thanks," Chase said with a smirk. "I tend to agree." She started to move past him, then doubled back and grasped his shoulder as she pressed up on her toes. She brushed her lips to his cheek lightly. "Sweet dreams, Tuck."

"And to you," he replied with a smile, watching her go up the stairs.

:O:O:O:

Chase slept deliciously late the next morning, and woke to find that Tuck and Joe had already left. She found a note on the refrigerator door from Tuck, letting her know that Joe had left breakfast for her in the fridge and that he would see her later.

She popped open the fridge and found some sloppily made pancakes and fruit. She smirked and pulled the plate out and as she warmed the pancakes, she ran upstairs for her laptop and sat at the breakfast bar, listening to deli surveillance as she ate.

She listened to the previous night's surveillance, starting an hour before the deli closed. There had been a few last customers, and then there had been thirty-seven minutes of just noises of the proprietor closing up and putting things away. Then she heard what sounded like a knock at the door. Chase leaned forward, fixing onto a random point on the wall as she focused on the rapid Russian she heard.

"Boss," she heard the proprietor say in a shaky tone.

"You won't see me for a while," she heard a harsh voice reply. "They caught Boris and I must go into hiding."

_Vladimir, _she thought.

"Where will you go?" the proprietor asked. "How will we reach you?"

"You won't," Vlad said. "Things are over for a long time. They know things about our operation and will be breaking it up. This deli is probably compromised. There will be no more operational business conducted from this store."

Although Chase agreed that from his standpoint everything he said made perfect sense, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was no way it could be quite that simple. Chase suspected that he might already know the deli was bugged and was just saying that to throw them off. The one thing that she did think was true was the fact that he was getting ready to disappear. She sighed heavily; if he wasn't revealing his whereabouts to trusted crime family members, she knew they had as much of a chance at locating his intended destination on a humbug as there was a snowball's chance in hell.

Nonetheless, she continued to listen diligently for hours, typing notes and reading and re-reading them, trying to make sense of it. She looked for clues in things she'd written, possible codes that had been peppered into seemingly normal conversation. Finally, she ripped off her headphones and slammed the top of her laptop down, dropping her head on top of it and folding her arms around her head.

After a while she snapped her head up, her eyes flying to the clock on the microwave. She gasped, seeing she had less than an hour to get ready for the date with Tuck she had completely forgotten about. She raced upstairs, taking a quick but thorough shower. She frowned at her wet, wavy hair and decided she didn't have enough time to try to straighten it, so she decided to leave it wavy, applying a product that would make her waves smooth and silky as they dried.

She applied light makeup, not wanting to go overboard, and rifled through her bags. She hesitated, not sure where they were going or what she should wear. She finally decided on a pale pink sleeveless dress with a plunging V-neck with a tulip skirt. The dress was a tad on the sexy side, so she added a long-length tan cardigan and a skinny belt and opted for flat sandals instead of heels.

She heard a knock on his front door and turned, frowning. She didn't know if he was expecting anyone...or if she needed to be worried.

With her packed plum colored large clutch in one hand and her Glock in the other, she slipped quietly down the stairs, stealing quietly to the door. She set her purse down on the stairs and supported her gun hand with her left, pressing up on her toes to look through the peephole.

"Shit, Tuck!" she hissed, then wrenched open the door. He smiled at her, his look changing to surprise as he noted the gun in her hand.

"You all right, love?" he asked curiously.

She exhaled a sharp breath between her lips, taking her finger off the trigger and setting the gun down the side table.

"I thought you were someone else," she said. Her lips twisted into a wry smirk. "I didn't think you would ring your own bell."

His smile widened. "I was trying to be a proper gent and pick you up for our date the right way."

She chuckled. "What's the 'right' way?"

He brought out a trio of different colored tulips from behind his back, making her gasp with delight.

"Tulips are my favorite," she murmured, taking the the flowers from him. She shifted her eyes to him and smiled. "Thank you. How did you guess?"

"No stereotypical roses for you," he replied lightly. "Beyond that, I just had a hunch."

Chase turned and reached for a glass, filling it with water and popping the tulips in. She beamed at him.

"Well, if that's the proper way for a 'gent' to start a date, then this should be interesting," she replied.

"Shall we?" he asked, holding the door.

She nodded and grabbed her bag again, then followed him out the door. She noticed he wore a light gray sweater over a lavender button-down shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and dark blue jeans and casual black leather shoes. He looked and smelled delicious, his familiar spicy scent wafting around her and filling the hallway.

She crashed into his back as he halted in front of the passenger side door of his truck. He twisted to smirk at her over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, you open doors," she muttered. "I keep forgetting."

When he was settled behind the wheel of the truck, she glanced at him. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he answered. "But hopefully something you'll like."

She was pleasantly surprised when he pulled to a stop in front of a Spanish tapas restaurant. She hopped out with a wide smile when he opened her door for her.

"Tapas?" she asked, grinning.

"Oh, _tapas_?" he repeated lightly. "Damn. I thought it was a _topless_ restaurant. Back in the truck we go."

"Ha, ha," she said sarcastically, shoving his chest. Her smile returned. "I already love it."

Over pitchers of the best sangria Chase had ever tasted and various small hot and cold plates of Mediterranean dishes, they chatted. Tuck told her about growing up in England, being raised by two incredibly hard-working parents who scraped together every dime to get him the best education possible. He told her about being on "football" and rugby teams at school, his close relationship to his grandparents and even divulged a little about his marriage with Katie and some of his favorite memories of Joe.

Chase in turn told him about growing up in New York, her experience in dance and school. She regaled him with stories about her brash Italian family on her mother's side and her equally brash Spanish family on her father's side. She told him about her love for running and her yearly participation in the New York marathon.

They exchanged a list of each of their "favorites" - book, movie, food, hobby, wine. Before she knew it, three hours had passed effortlessly, and Chase lost count of the pitchers of sangria they ordered.

"Would you like to share dessert?" Tuck asked, signaling for their waiter.

"Ugh, I'm so full I couldn't eat another bite," Chase groaned. "So, yes, obviously."

Tuck chuckled and the waiter came over to share their repertoire of desserts.  
"I'm torn," he said to Chase. "Creme brûlée, New York cheesecake or key lime pie?"

"Creme brûlée," Chase said dreamily.

"Very good," the waiter said, and disappeared.

Tuck glanced at Chase to say something, and the words died in his mouth as he was momentarily caught off guard by the way she looked in the dim glow of the candlelit atmosphere. Her slender fingers lazily brought her glass of sangria to her lips, stained dark from the wine. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the drink, her wavy hair unruly and framing her face. Her eyes glimmered as she met his gaze over her glass and as she pulled it away, her tongue flicked out over her full bottom lip, drawing in beads of wine left there.

He cleared his throat and looked away, his fingers playing at the base of his own glass.

"Chase," he said quietly. "You're really beautiful. Really beautiful."

She blinked in surprise, a gentle smile curving her lips. It wasn't the words; he complimented her frequently. It was the depth of emotion in his voice that caught her attention, and she knew he wasn't just referring to her looks. And that was better than any words he could have spoken.

"Thanks," she said quietly, and then fell silent as they locked gazes again. She didn't know what to say but she felt like maybe that was all right.

The waiter arrived then with their dessert and set it between them. Chase plucked a spoon from the dish and dipped it into the dessert. She brought a spoonful of the vanilla custard and crunchy, carmelized brown sugar to Tuck's lips. Without breaking from her eyes, his lips slowly pulled the spoon into his mouth, enjoying the sweet, creamy flavor.

"Your turn," he said lightly, and fed her a bite similarly. His eyes glued to her lips as her tongue swept out over her bottom lip. He clenched his jaw, having to fight a sudden urge to attack her mouth with his own.

When their dessert was eaten, Tuck paid for the check and they strolled back to his truck, enjoying the cool spring night. She pulled her cardigan around herself a little tighter and after a moment, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. She smiled to herself and leaned into him slightly.

"So a date with you isn't so bad after all," she said teasingly. "Thank you. For everything - the tulips, dinner. It was perfect."

"You're welcome," Tuck replied, smiling down at her. "I'm honored that you suffered through this with some semblance of graciousness."

"It was really difficult," Chase retorted, pausing to allow Tuck to open her door. "But I took one for the team anyway."

"Whose team?" Tuck asked, mystified. "I think we're back to that drunken rubbish again."

"I'm not drunk!" Chase insisted. Then she smiled. "A little tipsy, maybe. But not drunk."

"If you say so," Tuck replied with a grin.

They headed back to his loft and Tuck glanced at her as she made a beeline for the stairs.

"If I didn't live here," he called after her. "You would be shedding articles of clothing up the stairs on your way to jump into your sweats."

"Jealous?" her muffled reply came back.

He smirked and grabbed two glasses and the bottle of scotch, jogging up after her. He rapped on the doorframe but heard the water running in the bathroom. A moment later, she emerged, running a hand through her waves, holding her clothes in her hand and wearing a loose white T-shirt. And by Tuck's estimation, nothing else.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N - Any takers for some Monday smut, anyone? Going once, going twice? SOLD!**

**Chapter 28**

She walked toward him slowly, dropping her hand from her hair. The hem of her T-shirt lifted slightly and Tuck caught a peek of lace. She smiled, not meeting his eyes as she placed her neatly folded clothing on top of her bag. She glanced at the two glasses and bottle of scotch he was carrying.

"Nightcap?" she asked.

"Indeed," he replied. "If you'd like."

"Sure," she replied, perching on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs. Tuck's eyes followed the movement and he swallowed. "I'm always down to damage my liver a little more."

He chuckled and set the glasses down on the nightstand and uncapped the bottle. He poured out two fingers of scotch for each of them and handed her the glass. She clinked hers against his before she brought it to her lips. Tuck watched her as he sipped.

"So," she said. "How does Tuck Hansen end a date? Surely you don't invite every woman to come and sleep in your bed." She smirked mischievously.

"Well," he replied. "That depends entirely on how the date went."

"Let's say it went really bad."

"Really bad?" he repeated. "Really bad. Ok. Well, then I would drop the young lady off at her home and stay in the car to ensure that she made it inside safely, and then burn rubber down her street to get the hell out of there."

"Seems legit," Chase replied, taking another sip. "How about if it went...moderately well?"

"If it went moderately well, I would see her to her front door and give her a chaste peck goodnight."

"Phone call the next day?"

"Perhaps."

"What's a 'chaste peck'?"

Tuck leaned forward and Chase's breath caught slightly as he planted a very gentle, light closed-mouth kiss on her lips and stepped back with a smirk. Nonetheless, it made her slightly dizzy and she smiled up at him.

"Ok, ok. That was very gentlemanly of you. Now what if the date went _well-_well?"

"If it went _well-_well, I would still see her to her door with every intention of going home, but the goodnight kiss would graduate a bit from a chaste peck."

"And that is…?" Chase lifted her eyebrows.

Tuck half-smiled and leaned over her again. She bit her lip in anticipation as he slowly lowered his head to hers. He ran his lips lightly over her cheek before brushing them gently against her lips; he pulled back ever so slightly to look into her eyes, then brought his face to hers again and parted his lips, capturing hers. She involuntarily brought one hand to the side of his face but he stepped back again.

She cleared her throat, taking another sip of her scotch. She looked up at him from under her lashes. "And if the date went really, _really_ well?"

In reply, he took her glass from her hands and set it on the nightstand, adding his next to it. He moved over her and looked into her eyes, planting his hands on either side of her on the mattress.

"If the date with a lovely young lady with whom I was rapidly falling head over heels for went really, _really _well," he began quietly, leaning toward her, "I would ask her if she would care to accompany me back to my home and then proceed to offer her a nightcap."

"And if she accepted?" Chase whispered back, her eyes on his lips.

"If she accepted, then I would pour her two fingers of my finest scotch," Tuck murmured back.

"And then what?"

In reply, he straightened slightly but slipped his hands into her thick waves and brought her face up to his. Chase's eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to hers, shifting his mouth to take her bottom lip before tilting his head and kissing her deeply. She felt his tongue flick lightly at her upper lip and she sucked in a breath through her nose, her hands fisting into his sweater as she offered up her tongue. He pulled it into his mouth gently, his own tongue meeting and swirling against it languidly as the twitching throb she'd felt earlier in the day slammed into her with renewed energy.

She let out a soft moan when his lips traveled along her jaw and down the side of her throat, stopping to nip at her collarbone before returning to her mouth. She got lost in his mouth and tongue for a long moment, completely forgetting about time, place and location; the only thing that mattered right now was his lips on her lips, his tongue against her tongue.

Suddenly, he pulled back and stepped away. He smiled down at her. "And that is what happens when my dates go really, _really_ well." He bit back a grin at her expression; her waves were mussed from his hands, her smoky eyes practically like charcoal smoke against a cloudy blue sky, her lips swollen and parted. Her hands were still in the air where they had been against him a moment before. He liked teasing her, even if it had taken every ounce of willpower to step away.

Chase pushed off the bed, unfolding her long, golden legs and stepped toward him. Without saying a word, she gripped the back of his neck, pulling his head down as she brought hers up to his and pressed her body against his. She licked into his mouth before covering his lips with hers and the erection he'd been fighting all night suddenly sprang to life against her hip.

In response she slipped her hands under his sweater and pushed it up his body, until she had to press all the way up on her toes to pull it over his head. Her hands dropped to the top button of his shirt and started undoing each button, one after the other, as she resumed kissing him. His hands squeezed her arms as he struggled to catch his breath, hard and fast with anticipation.

"Don't worry," she murmured. "I won't rip the buttons off your shirt this time."

"Thank you," he managed to reply.

She pushed his button-up back over his shoulders and pulled it off his arms. Her eyes glowed as they took in curved, well developed muscles of his tattooed shoulders and biceps. She ran her hands along them and bit her lip before she moved to push his white cotton undershirt up his body and over his head as well. He leaned down to take her mouth again when her hands moved to his belt, deftly undoing it and pulling it apart so she could pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. He gave her a push backward onto the bed and stared down at her as he snaked his jeans down over his hips, shucking his socks along the way. He reached over and flicked off the lamp, letting only moonlight stream in through his blinds. Her normally golden, olive complexion was bathed in a soft, milky cast, smooth and silky.

He moved onto the bed where she was sitting up, her hands propped behind her, and leaned over her. He ran a hand slowly up her leg, amazed at how soft and smooth it was. He slipped his hand over her knee and up her thigh and was rewarded with a soft, anticipatory moan. He slipped his hand under her T-shirt, touching her contracted abdominal muscles as her breathing quietly picked up pace. For a moment, his hand squeezed down on her waist, and then he moved to his knees, standing over her, and reached his other hand down to strip her shirt off over her head. He took in the sight of her for a moment, his hands straying to her breasts, then pushed her back down on the bed. She lay under him in only her panties, trying to control the shaking that was slowly overtaking her.

He was still on his knees over her and reached for her hips, slowly inching her panties down over them. She gulped and lifted her hips, her eyes raking over his hard, muscled, tattooed body. He was utterly in control of her now.

He pressed her legs open and leaned down, settling himself between them as he returned his lips to hers for more slow, luxurious kissing. She felt like she could come just from that. His tongue snaked back into her mouth and slowly stroked hers with the tip before twisting around it. His lips closed over her bottom one, drawing it into his mouth and suckling gently. He kissed along her jawline until he found the pulse in her neck, and slowly slid his tongue over the swiftly throbbing skin.

Her wetness gushed and she lifted her hips against his. "Tuck, please," she whimpered. She moaned when he thrust his hips back against hers, pressing her to the bed.

"Shh," he said against her skin, sending little vibrations rippling over the surface. "I need to taste every inch of you." Chills flooded her system. Her hands slid down his flank, gripping his hips. He continued his downward trajectory, placing suckling kisses slowly down her throat. He went over each collar bone with the tip of his tongue before swirling it gently against the hollow spot at the base of her throat. He dipped his head and drew one of her nipples between his lips and into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it. He pulled away from it languidly, his lips tight around it, before turning his attention to her other breast. She squirmed beneath him, whining softly.

He smiled into her skin. "Stay still," he murmured. He trailed a line of kisses down her sternum, down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button as his large hands came up to squeeze her breasts. She moaned again and gripped his wrists with shaking hands.

"Tuck," she whined again. She groaned deep, rumbling in her chest, when she felt his lips make their way down her hip bone. That was one of her most sensitive areas and it was sending blazing hot threads of desire through her.

"Hush," he breathed against her skin, squeezing her breasts again. His warm breath heated her skin as he teased her, pressing his lips to one inner thigh and then the other, back and forth until he reached her center. She was shaking now, anticipating the feeling, and she knew she wouldn't last long. She heard him inhale deeply and realized he was drawing in her scent. He moaned softly from between her legs the instant before she felt his tongue lap deeply against her.

She practically leapt off the bed at the sensation, gasping a string of curses. He quickly moved his hands to her hips to hold her tightly in place while he continued to work his lips and tongue against her. He closed around the tiny, hard pearl at the top of her center and drew it into his mouth, swirling his tongue against it. Her hands fisted into the bedding as she bit her tongue to suppress a shriek. The tip of his tongue dipped lower along her slit, parting her, before swirling into her gently. She gasped, feeling his tongue move in and out of her before it hooked up to find the soft, spongy tissue on her roof and flick against it. Her building orgasm warmed her lower stomach and she began to pant.

"Tuck," she moaned. His tongue slowly slid out of her before stroking back to her top. He teased her hard little pearl again before dropping his tongue lower to lap against her. Finally, she couldn't handle it any longer and exploded in his mouth. He licked and sucked hard against her, as though he were trying to draw all of her moisture out onto his tongue. She squirmed, her center ultra-sensitive.

He slid up her body, his eyes dark with lust, and she reached out to grab his head, pulling him in close and devouring his lips with her own. He gave her his tongue and she sucked against it eagerly, tasting herself and loving it. For a moment he kissed her with almost violent passion, his tongue never leaving her mouth, getting off on her enjoying her own taste. One hand dug into her hair while the other reached down between her legs, touching her sopping wetness, moving his fingers inside her. He cursed softly with appreciation as her silky wetness slipped around his fingers.

Her eyes flew open when he pushed his fingers firmly against the spongy mass on her roof. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, watching as she pulled her mouth from his to moan again as he firmly fingered the sensitive tissue there. Her breath hitched in her chest as warmth began to flood her again, her body starting to shiver.

"Do it," he whispered in her ear, never letting up with his fingers. He latched onto her earlobe, feeling her clench down and tighten around his fingers before she exploded again, her muscles contracting rapidly against his fingers. She moaned breathlessly into his ear and she felt him grow even harder.

"Shit," she breathed, clutching his back. Her nails dug into his flesh, making him hiss with pain. She pushed against him, forcing him onto his back. His hand never let up out of her hair and he tugged it, forcing her head down to his to kiss her deeply again. She moved her lips and tongue to his neck and then to the tattoos sprinkled over his chest, taking her time on every one. He bit his lip and grunted when her lips found his nipples. She straddled him and feasted her eyes onto the ridges of his heavily muscled stomach. She leaned down to outline each muscle with the tip of her tongue. She found the tattoo curving around his side and followed it with her lips. She traced the skin just over the waistband of his boxer briefs with her tongue, loving the way he sucked in his breath and jerked in his underwear. She reached down to grasp the elastic with both hands and yanked it down over his hips and thighs, down until she pulled the boxer briefs off completely. She reached for him, taking him in her hand, realizing that while she had known he was large from their previous encounter, he now felt even bigger than she had remembered. Her fingers didn't quite meet around the circumference of him and it made her eagerly nervous.

She stroked him for a moment, watching as his eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillow. She held him tight and swirled her fist up and down his length. His hand suddenly closed over hers.

"Chase," he muttered. Chase knew that it was supposed to be a signal, something to let her know he wasn't going to last much longer if she kept it up. She knew that, but she bobbed her head anyway and before he could move, she took his length in her mouth.

He hissed, his hand finding its way into her hair. His eyes fixed on her, watching her cheeks suck in around him as her head bobbed up and down, taking more of his length into her mouth and throat as she went. He let out a stream of hushed curses as her eyes met his, crinkling at the corners to let him know she was loving it. She reached his tip and contracted her cheeks around it hard as her tongue swirled over the top. She moved her mouth up and down and around his tip, successfully squeezing out some of his essence. Tasting him, she moaned deep in her throat and slid all the way back down on him. His body seized when he felt his tip brush her tonsils.

"Fuck!" he hissed. His other hand snaked into her hair and he tugged, gently but insistently. She finally removed her mouth from him, swiping her hand over her lips as she slowly sat up. He sat up too, pulling her in for a deep, searching kiss. Her hands came to his shoulders first and then wrapped around his neck and head, pulling him as close as she could.

He flipped her onto her back and pressed her into the bed. There were so many ways he wanted to have her, so many positions he wanted to take her in but this seemed like a logical starting place. He only hoped he would be able to make it as far as he wanted to take it; she had gotten him dangerously close with her gorgeous lips wrapped around him. The image was seared into his brain and he knew he'd see it every time he closed his eyes.

"Please," she begged in a whisper. The plea turned him on more than he could stand. He fisted one hand into her hair while the other ran up her side, feeling a little trail of goosebumps rise on her skin in his fingertips' wake. He pulled her nipple into his mouth with his tongue and sucked it while he reached down to take a hold of himself. He slid his throbbing tip up and down her warm, wet folds, teasing her, while the feeling of her moisture just against his tip was enough to make him want to come right there. Her legs spread wide for him and he brought his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply while he slowly entered her, pausing after each small thrust to enjoy the way her walls shuddered around him and stretched to let him in.

He pushed the rest of his length into her at once, and she gasped sharply. He held still for a moment to let her get re-acclimated to his size inside her.

"All right, love?" he murmured in her ear, realizing it was the same thing he'd said to her in Vegas. He wanted to move, he wanted to thrust away so badly, but he held still.

"Yes," she said huskily. Her legs lifted and he felt her silky smooth skin slide over his ass to clasp around his waist. "Please, Tuck…"

He began to move slowly at first, hitting her deep as he returned to her mouth. Her hips lifted with every thrust, pushing back against him whenever he bottomed out inside her. He nuzzled her neck, loving her moans. One hand reached back to grab a pillow while the other gripped the back of his head. He picked up his pace slightly, her wet warmth sliding around him deliciously.

"Fuck, Chase," he mumbled into her neck. She felt amazingly good…better than anything he'd ever had. She was tight and hot and wet – for him.

He heard her take a shuddery breath a second before her walls clamped around him for the second time and she shrieked into his shoulder as she came. He felt extraordinarily pleased with himself and it took all of his self-control not to fill her with his seed at that exact moment. Instead he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. He took her hands and helped her climb on top of him. She was still trembling from her most recent peak and her wetness slid against his thigh as she moved over him. He pushed himself up slightly so his back was halfway up against the headboard. He'd needed to have her this way since their visit to Sapphire; he couldn't get the image of her hovering over his lap in her sexy outfit out of his head. As if she was remembering the same, she took his hands and placed them on her hips, squeezing her hands over his to make him tighten his grip on her like he had at the club. His tongue swept his bottom lip between his teeth briefly as he squeezed her tightly and she spread her thighs wide on either side of him and slowly lowered herself down onto him.

"Fuck," he cursed in an undertone, completely taken with the way she bobbed up and down, taking him slowly in her tight, warm depths. She rolled her hips until he was completely buried inside her and his skin was flush with hers. With him buried deep inside her, she began moving her hips in a slow, forward rolling motion. The sensation was incredible and he had to bite his lip again to keep from moaning too loudly. His heart was pounding out of control and he knew he shouldn't be watching her work on him, he was getting too turned on, but he couldn't look away. He slid a hand up the middle of her body, amazed at how smooth she was everywhere, before dropping his hand to where she was flush against his pelvis and started to stroke her tender, hard little nub in time with her slow, deep thrusts. Her smoky eyes latched onto his and she reached out to grip the back of his head as she slowly rode him.

"Tuck…" she whispered. She braced her hands down on his hips and her head lolled back, her hair tumbling down her back. He hissed a short, sharp breath when her hips changed directions and started rolling figure eights on him. He reached out and slipped a hand into her hair, around the back of her head, pulling it forward until her eyes, hazy with lust, focused on him.

"Look at me," he breathed. She bit her lip as a lock of her hair fell over one eye, meeting his gaze. His hands slipped to her hips and he gripped them firmly, guiding her into an up-and-down rhythm on him. He lifted his hips slightly with every downward thrust she made. She leaned forward and started thrusting on him harder. As he was sitting up slightly, her breasts pressed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, palming her ass as she moved hard against him. Her tongue slipped out between her lips and he moved his head forward quickly to catch it. He felt her breath on his cheek suddenly pick up speed through her nose and she started to tremble again. He pulled his lips from hers with a soft _smack_.

"Come for me," he whispered in her ear, tonguing her pulse. A low, whiny moan pulled at the edges of her breath, building on itself, until she cried out, shuddering violently for the third time. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, panting, sweaty, as she rode through her aftershocks. He loved the way her walls felt around him, the rapidly contracting muscles threatening to push him over the edge. Before it was too late, he gently lifted her upward, pulling out of her again, and guided her to lie on her stomach. He moved her legs apart with a knee and covered her back with his chest, moving to lie on top of her. Before he moved into her, he nuzzled the back of her neck before pulling her earlobe into his mouth.

"D'you need more?" he whispered teasingly while he held his aching member in his hand. _He _needed more.

"Yes," she whispered back. "Please, Tuck, don't stop..."

He pressed his fingertips to her chin gently, guiding her face back toward his, and entered her mouth tongue first as he slowly worked himself into her with slow, short thrusts. She moaned into his mouth when she felt his pelvis flat against her, felt him buried deep inside her. She reached up, grabbing the back of his head to hold him there and kissed him deeply.

He thrust slowly and deeply at first, loving the way her ass felt against his lower stomach, loving how she moaned into his mouth. His own need started to overtake him, and his thrusts gradually started to pick up speed.

"Yes," she whimpered. "I like it like that!"

He pressed his forehead to her temple, thrusting fast and hard. "Does it feel good, love?" he managed, teething at her jaw.

"Yes!" she whined. "Don't stop!"

He pushed himself up on his hands and with new purpose, pumped into her harder and faster. He watched her twist her fists into the blankets hard, watched her teethe the pillow.

His orgasm, long awaited, began to warm his stomach but he needed her to come for him one more time before he could release. "Come for me, love," he said through gritted teeth. "Come for me again." He swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed the skin of her back, running his tongue over the nape of her neck until she jerked, crying out, squeezing tight around him. As her body rocked through her orgasm, his built to the top and as he took the skin of the nape of her neck between his teeth, he came long and hard, harder than he could remember coming in a very long time. He growled through it, flooding her with hot semen. His eyes squeezed shut as he throbbed into her, biting down hard on her tender skin as she whimpered softly underneath him. He leaned his forehead between her shoulder blades as he waited for his heart rate to slow down, his breath to catch. When he felt like he was in control of himself again, he kissed her back, her shoulders, her neck, her jaw, turning her face gently to catch her lips.

"Tuck," she murmured, her voice sleepy and thick with satisfaction. "Don't even think about moving."

"Hell, no," he breathed back. "Couldn't even if I wanted to." He felt completely spent and satiated but knew that if he had every day for the rest of his life it wouldn't be enough.

A warm afterglow enveloped them as they fell asleep. Chase curled underneath him, his arms wrapped around her. For the first time since she'd come to stay with him, Tuck slept in his own bed again, and it was the best sleep he could recall having in quite some time.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N - Soooooooooooo it would seem that I had Tuck's last name WRONG all along...originally, IMDB never listed his last name and Wikipedia (fucking Wikipedia) listed his last name as Hansen. Wiki has NOW been updated to reflect his name as John "Tuck" Harrison which, as I facepalm myself, makes perfect sense because for those of you who have seen the film, the part where Lauren looks at his profile, it says "johnharrison30"...FUCKING SHIT WINTER. Anyway...for those of you that care I have corrected it in the story although Chase doesn't know that his real first name is John. We may or may not reveal that to her in later chapters. ARGH! **

**Anyway, here's another fluffy (and kinda sad) chapter before I pick up the action again. And, er...I apologize in advance for the chapter after this. XD**

**Chapter 29**

The smell of cinnamon and bacon pulled Chase from her dreams the next morning, and she lifted her face from the pillow, squinting against the bright sunlight flooding in between Tuck's blinds. She glanced at the clock on his nightstand and was shocked that she'd slept until eleven. She hadn't slept this long since college. She was a reluctant early bird, often rising at five during the week and before eight on the weekend, not because she particularly wanted to, but because she always felt a sense of guilt out of being lazy.

She reached up a hand to shove her long, unruly waves out of her face and turned to struggle into a sitting position just as Tuck turned the corner into his room. He wore a pair of sweats and nothing else, and was holding a wide oak breakfast tray.

She licked her lips, more interested in the perfectly formed, tattooed body above the low-slung sweatpants, but her stomach had other ideas, grumbling as the aroma became stronger. She arranged the sheet loosely around her, letting it drape around her breasts. He didn't miss it and his eyes darkened slightly as he smiled.

"Breakfast, milady," he announced, setting the tray carefully on the bed and climbing in beside her. He handed her a glass of orange juice and she took a long sip gratefully.

"Thank you," she murmured, biting her lip as his fingers traced up her arms. He fingered a lock of her hair and tugged it gently to bring her face down toward his for a long kiss. "Breakfast in bed, huh?"

"It'll never happen again, I assure you," he joked. "So you should enjoy it now."

She laughed, watching as he lifted a plate of French and forked off a bite, holding it out to her. She chewed contentedly, watching as he fed himself a bite before handing her a mug of coffee.

They sipped their coffee quietly before Tuck set his mug down. He leaned forward, glancing at her lying back against his pillows over his shoulder.

"You'll be going back to New York soon, yeah?" he asked. "Now that Kozlov's indictment is tomorrow."

"Andrei hasn't been located," she reminded him. She'd filled him in last night on what she had overheard listening to the surveillance yesterday. "And he's left no clue as to where he's heading. It could take a while to find him."

Tuck smiled at her gently. "You were only brought in to bring down the Kozlovs," he reminded her softly. "Now that the big fish has been caught, they'll reassign the case back to Franklin and me."

Chase pursed her lips, looking down into her mug. She knew he had a point and sighed. "Possibly," she replied, refusing to fully agree.

"So, what happens then?" he asked. He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I meant it when I told you last night that I was falling for you."

"Oh, was that me you were talking about?" Chase joked uncomfortably. "I thought we were speaking in generalities."

"Nope," he replied softly.

She sighed. "I-I don't know what happens then," she said. "We live on opposite coasts. And I've never been fond of the long distance thing. The emphasis always seems to turn to distance."

"We both make a decent living," he said in the same soft tone. "We can fly out to see each other."

"Except for when we're working cases around the clock and hardly have a spare weekend off," Chase pointed out gently, "and moreover, you have a son. If it came down to spending time with me or Joe…Joe wins. Always." She sighed and reached for his hand. "Don't get me wrong, Tuck. I definitely feel something for you, too. And I would love to see where it could go. But between our line of work and our proximity…well, I know you know as well as I do that doesn't leave a lot of room for…other things."

He was quiet for a moment, playing with her fingers, before looking up and shooting her a crooked grin. "Are you always this positive?" he asked. "It's quite infectious."

She pushed his shoulder lightly and they returned to their breakfast, but Chase couldn't deny a slightly melancholy mood had taken over. Nonetheless, as they moved downstairs and Chase pulled her laptop to the coffee table to do some work, Tuck gathered up some files and joined her on the couch, pausing to drop a kiss on her cheek before turning his attention to his work.

For the next several hours they worked side by side, quiet except for occasionally discussing notes. Sometimes Chase would bring something from the surveillance to his attention and they would talk over what it could potentially mean. She answered several emails from the attorney, who had decided he had some questions after all.

She was typing notes furiously, her headphones clamped firmly around her ears, listening so hard to the surveillance that she hardly noticed the sun had started to sink low on the horizon when she felt Tuck brush his lips to her neck. She jumped a foot and whirled to look at him, pulling her headphones off. He was smirking at her.

She let out a breathless laugh, her heart still racing. "What's up?" she asked.

Tuck held up his phone. "FDR just sent me a text. He wanted to know if we would like to meet him and Lauren for sushi."

"Sure," Chase replied, stretching. She rolled her head around her neck, wincing slightly when she felt a nerve tug down her neck. Immediately she felt Tuck's large, firm hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently and with some skill. Her eyes flew open in surprise as her nerve and muscle were soothed by his hand.

"Wow," she murmured. "You're really good at that."

"If you're a nice girl, perhaps you'll get a full body massage later," he replied in her ear.

She felt her body stir at the words, and laughed ruefully. She pulled away reluctantly, turning to look at him as his hand slid down her back.

"Come on. We better get going."

:O:O:O:

On the way to the sushi place, Tuck explained that it was part of his and FDR's tradition to celebrate the night before an indictment of a suspect on a case they were working on. Since FDR had been somewhat MIA from the case, he had offered to pick up the tab but was nonetheless excited to see things come to a conclusion.

"Even though Andrei is still on the loose?" Chase had asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Tuck laughed at her softly. "I never thought one CIA agent would ever say this to another but…you're obsessed."

Chase made a noise of frustration as she shook her head. "You don't understand. I was so close."

"We'll get him," Tuck said lightly, reaching over to take her hand. "One way or the other."

She leaned her head back on the seat and looked at him. He was in profile, watching the road as he drove, but he could feel her eyes on him, so his lips curved up at the corner.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked with a low chuckle after a moment.

"Just admiring the view," she replied. He squeezed her hand and still didn't look at her, but his smile stayed on his face.

He pulled up to the small sushi joint and they headed inside, immediately spotting FDR, Lauren, Trish and Bob at a table in the corner. Chase exchanged a hug with Lauren, noting that the blonde and FDR were absolutely glowing.

"Wow, you guys look great," Chase exclaimed. "Married life seems to be treating you well.

"It is," Lauren said brightly as FDR's arm slipped around her. "It really is. We were just saying the other day –"

"You two had sex," Trish suddenly blurted out, pointing between Chase and Tuck. Her eyes were wide.

A silence fell over the group as all eyes turned toward the newcomers. Lauren's mouth had fallen open and FDR was looking at them through narrowed, suspicious, amused eyes. Tuck scoffed as he and Chase met eyes, shrugging and making noises of scorn.

"_You did!" _Trish exclaimed, rising to her feet. "You two _fucked!_"

"How can you know that?" FDR asked, mystified.

"I can smell it," Trish replied, then turned her finger to point at Chase's face. "And she has that _look_."

"What _look?_" FDR asked.

"That glassy-eyed, 'I-just-got-fucked-_real_-good' look." She clapped three times, smirking at Tuck. "Well done, Austin Powers. Good work on shagging her proper."

"Have you taken your meds today?" Tuck asked her earnestly.

Trish smiled, sitting down. "You can play coy all you want with me. I know what I know."

Chase's face was on fire as she sat down next to Tuck. She wrapped her hands around her glass of ice water, then pressed her hands to her face.

"Oh, my God," Lauren said slowly. "_You did! _I thought Trish was just talking shit and being Trish but _you did! _Baby, look how red she's getting."

"Oh, my God," Chase said, unable to stop smiling or turning red. Conversely, Tuck was as cool as a cucumber next to her, casually chewing a toothpick as he looked at her, as amused as everyone else. He pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and leaned toward her.

"Well, I guess they've got our number then, eh?" he said, then took her hand and tugged her toward him. She looked at him in surprise before he pressed his lips against hers as everyone at the table whooped and applauded.

She was laughing as she pulled away, shaking her head as Tuck slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Ok, ok. Can we move onto a different topic, please? You two. Tell us about the rest of your week."

To Chase's immense relief, the conversation shifted to the rest Lauren's and FDR's time in Vegas. Eventually FDR brought the conversation to the case, demanding a play-by-play of the apprehending of Kozlov. He admired both of their battle scars and seemed disappointed when they reported that neither one of them had been shot. Chase also discovered that FDR loved indictments.

"There's nothin' better," he replied. He smiled wistfully. "Just being able to sit there and watch them squirm. It's…it's really wonderful."

Chase laughed. "If you say so."

"So when do you go back to New York?" FDR asked.

Chase shifted uncomfortably as Tuck cleared his throat. "I'm not sure yet, but now that Kozlov's been caught, probably sometime this week," she replied softly. "I'll be around for the indictment."

"Oh, no," Lauren exclaimed, seeming genuinely sad. "You won't be here for the reception?"

"When is the reception?" Chase asked.

"Saturday."

Chase bit her lip, shaking her head. "Probably not," she said regretfully.

She glanced at Tuck out of the corner of her eye and saw that his face was a smooth, emotionless mask but knew after their conversation this morning that he was genuinely unhappy about her leaving.

"That sucks," Trish replied with a frown. "You're not allowed to leave. You're one of us now."

"I'll miss you guys," Chase said softly, while under the table her hand moved to squeeze Tuck's thigh. "I really will."

"Will you come back and visit us sometime?" Lauren asked, her face still sad.

"Of course. Whenever I can."

FDR was studying Tuck intently during this exchange, then turned back to Chase and cleared his throat. "Well, you've done an amazing job since you've been here," he said sincerely. "I hope we can work together again in the future."

Chase smiled warmly. "Me, too."

"All right. So, the indictment's at eight tomorrow?" FDR asked.

"Yes," Chase replied.

"Awesome. Front row."

"We're spies, mate," Tuck pointed out. "We're supposed to be flying under the radar a bit."

"Good point," FDR said musingly.

They had a few more drinks before Tuck glanced at his watch. It was after ten. "Well, we should probably be going," he said, looking at Chase. She nodded. In addition to the indictment, they still had to do some work and she had to go through some out-processing at the LA field trip before contacting her boss and getting her travel arrangements set up to go back home.

Lauren made a sad face as she leaned over to embrace Chase. "Can you let us know before you leave? I'd like to see you before you go."

"Sure, of course," Chase said. "I definitely will."

They said their goodbyes and headed back to the truck. Chase sensed the melancholy feeling from earlier that day had returned and the drive home was quiet although Tuck kept a hold on her hand the entire way. She knew he wasn't happy about her leaving, and she wasn't happy about it either. At all. She had a feeling she was going to miss him more than she was prepared for.

When they got back to the loft, Chase glanced at the sink, seeing the breakfast dishes were still there. She quickly changed into comfortable clothing – a thin, baby blue loose cropped T-shirt and bright pink cotton shorts – and skipped back down the stairs to wash and dry them and put them away before heading to bed. Tuck reappeared after changing into comfortable clothes himself. He gathered up some files from the coffee table, glancing into the kitchen at her as she hummed to herself.

"You don't have to do that, love," he told her.

She glanced up at him and smiled. "It's fine. You cooked me breakfast in bed, so I'll do the dishes."

She started rinsing the dishes off as Tuck flipped through a few documents at the breakfast bar. When she was through, she got out a glass and filled it with water from the refrigerator. She tipped her head back, taking a long drink, and then felt a warm body press against her back. She glanced over her shoulder as Tuck wrapped his arms around her from behind, taking the half-full glass from her hand and setting it on the counter. She looked at him in surprise before he turned her around, pressing her against the fridge and then beginning to kiss her. Her breath caught in her chest as her hands gripped the sides of his T-shirt. She could hardly keep up with him; he was kissing her almost urgently. The passion was still the same but the tenderness had decreased slightly; now, desperation seemed to pull at the edges.

He whirled her around, pressing her against the wall that flanked the counter, marking off the kitchen space. The quiet space was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the soft smack of their lips, a few quiet, involuntary moans from Chase.

He pressed her hard against the wall, his lips and hips pressing insistently into hers. She sighed and shuddered against his mouth, feeling his hands slip under her cropped shirt to graze the skin of her waist and back. He dropped his lips to her throat and suckled there for a moment as he pushed her shorts down over her hips, leaving her in just a lacy pair of panties.

She took his mouth, slipping her tongue into it, squeezing her eyes shut as his fingers ran along the bottom of her lacy underwear along the soft skin of her rear. He nibbled her bottom lip, then grasped the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, returning his lips to hers immediately as he palmed her breasts. He lowered his mouth to one of them to take a nipple between his lips, flicking it with his tongue as her flesh twitched a throbbed between her legs, begging her silently for him. She pulled at the waistband of his lounge pants, untying them and reaching in, immediately grasping him since he wasn't wearing any other underwear. She felt him, hard and thick, ready for her, and started to stroke him as he groaned against her breasts. The sensation of her hand around him made him jerk his head up, taking her lips with force as he slipped his hands down the sides of her hips, under her panties, and shoved them down.

He slipped his hands down the back of her thighs and grasped them, lifting her in the air and pressing her against the narrow portion of wall. He held her in place with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. She wrapped her legs around his waist and cupped the back of his head, breathing hard as she met his eyes. He leaned in, taking her mouth in a deep kiss, offering her his tongue and while she took it, pushing and sliding against it with her own, he moved into her, pushing into her wet tightness as she gasped into his mouth.

"Shh," he warned softly, since they were in the kitchen which was right by the entrance to his loft. He did have neighbors. He gripped her hips and started a slow rhythm, fucking her hard but deep against the wall and she whined, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as she struggled to control herself.

"Ah, fuck," she whimpered as he slid into her deeply. "Dammit, you feel so good!"

"You do," he whispered back, his hands tightening on her. "Shit, Chase!" He started a steady stream of mumbled, unintelligent curses under his breath as he bottomed out inside her, then withdrew, only to bury himself deep inside her again. He got the leverage he wanted, pressing her back hard into the wall, and started to thrust into her hard, harder than before but she loved it. She wasn't aware of how loud her moans were getting until he stopped suddenly, leaning in to cover her mouth with his, cutting of a moan.

"Shh," he said again, his soft voice edged with a laugh. "You're starting to get loud, love."

"Well, then, stop fucking me like this," she moaned. "No, don't stop. Don't stop!"

In reply he carried her into the living room, still inside her, and laid her down on the couch. He pressed her legs open and started to fuck her even harder. She bit her lip, trying to control herself, but couldn't contain a strangled shriek when his tip rubbed up hard against her G-spot and yanked her orgasm out of her. She whimpered, shaking in his arms as he slowed to a stop above her, panting and grinning down at her.

"Let's try this. Turn over, sweetheart."

He pulled out of her and held himself over her as she turned over on her stomach and he slid a pillow under her head. She stared up at him over her shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as he slowly re-entered her. She gasped when he pushed the last several inches in quickly.

"Oh, fuck," she whined. He started slow and gradually picked up pace, increasing his depth until the sound of skin slapping skin filled the loft. She turned her face into the pillow and let loose, alternately moaning and screaming her pleasure into the cushion as he moved in and out of her. His teeth bit into the side of her neck, his hard breaths huffing into her ear.

"Ah, shit," he groaned, low and deep, in her ear, suckling at her shoulder. "Chase…you feel so amazing."

She couldn't verbalize anything until she felt tight heat coiling deep in her pelvis, building on itself, slowly, but intensely.

"Tuck," she whimpered, then moaned into the pillow as his teeth nipped at her neck again. "Tuck!" she tried again, fisting into the pillow. "I'm gonna co-_uuuh!" _

The heat coiled so tight, she completely lost her breath the instant before her orgasm slammed into her, threatening to tear her into pieces as she cried out into the pillow, her body convulsing as wave after wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her.

"Yes, love," he hissed, riding through her aftershocks. She reached back to grasp his neck, pulling him down to bury her tongue in his mouth as she tilted her ass slightly up a bit higher to let him pound into her harder. His thrusts were lightning fast and so hard, she knew she was going to have trouble walking later. Their tongues pushed together and one of his hands slid to her hip, gripping one of her ass cheeks in his hand and pushing it over so she was spread open for him as he fucked her hard. Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers as he came, clenching his jaw and groaning through gritted teeth as his forehead pressed into her neck.

"Tuck, you are fucking amazing," Chase slurred, hardly able to move anything, including her lips to form words.

"And meanwhile you're going to be the death of me," he replied, struggling to catch his breath. He dropped a kiss between her shoulder blades, smiling into her skin when she shivered. He withdrew from her slowly and she whined at losing the feeling of his warmth in and around her.

"Come here," he said softly, pulling her into his arms. He hefted her up and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom, where he dropped her onto the mattress. He climbed in beside her and yanked the covers over them both, then wrapped his arms around her and hauled her back against his chest. She murmured sleepily, nuzzling into him, and he dropped his lips into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent and closing his eyes, knowing that it might be one of the last times he'd get to do it.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N - There's a distinct possibility that I could be losing my mind. Thanks to a few of you, we've established that his last name is and shall forevermore henceforth be, Hansen. So poop on Wikipedia. Anywhoodles, we're closing in on the last few chapters here. I'm not sure how many more there will be but I do know the story is approaching its...er...climax! I'll try to drag it out for you and I'll even make an epilogue. How would that be?**

**Chapter 30**

Chase rose early the next morning and was making coffee in the kitchen when Tuck joined her. He slipped a hand around the back of her neck, squeezing gently, as he kissed her good morning and went to pop a few slices of bread into his toaster.

She smiled at him from the counter. He was semi dressed, his light blue button-up _on_ at least, if nothing else, the belt of his slacks undone and a tie slung haphazardly over his shoulder. By contrast, she was fully dressed in a charcoal gray pinstripe skirt suit with a pale yellow sheer blouse and black high heels, her waves coaxed into a neat twist at the back of her head.

She reached out and grasped the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer. He looked at her in mild surprise as she began to button his shirt for him. His face relaxed into a slight smile.

"Your OCD kicking in again, love?" he asked.

"Something like that," she replied, smiling up at him. One of his tattoos suddenly caught her attention. She'd known it was there, but had never really stopped to study it before. Curving below his left collarbone, in swirling script, was the Italian phrase "Padre Fiero".

"Proud father," she read, tracing her fingertips along the script lightly.

"Got that the day Joe was born," Tuck said softly. He smirked. "He said when he gets older he wants the 'son' version of it."

"'Figlio Fiero'," Chase said with a smile. "That would be fitting, wouldn't it?"

"I might let him do it," he replied. "When he's eighteen. If he still wants it."

"I'm sure he will," Chase said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "With a dad like you."

"Is she being sweet?" Tuck asked jokingly, his tone incredulous.

Chase slapped him lightly on the chest, pulling away to pour out the coffee. "Don't get used to it."

:O:O:O:

They arrived at the federal courthouse downtown fifteen minutes early. As it was a relatively high-profile federal case involving CIA agents, the press wasn't granted access to the courtroom. Chase, Tuck and FDR sat in the back of the courtroom. The only other people in attendance were a few FBI agents and the standard staff of the courthouse, along with the judge. Boris Kozlov sat at the front with his lawyer, his bright orange jumpsuit severely out of place in a sea of neutral and dark suits.

Boris kept glancing over shoulder at the CIA agents. He seemed to take especial interest in Chase, fixing his icy blue eyes on her. Her face remained impassive except for a slight lifting of her eyebrow.

Whistler was brought in to give his initial testimony, the first time Chase had seen him in over a week. He looked decent, in neat clothes and appeared clean. Chase knew that after his testimony, he would be packed off somewhere safe and secret until the trial, where he would take the stand again and put the proverbial nails into Boris' coffin.

Boris was formally charged with drug trafficking, and as this was his third drug-related offense, he could face life in prison if convicted. Chase had no doubt that with the amount of evidence they had on him, his trial would be swift. Nonetheless, Boris pled "not guilty" and Chase shook her head. Had he pled guilty, there might have been some sort of deal to be worked out, especially if he named names, and he might have only spent ten years or so in the state penitentiary. But now, with his "not guilty" plea, his case would go to trial, he would almost certainly be found guilty, and then he would spend the rest of his life in that orange jumpsuit, in a maximum security federal facility. She smirked to herself. She supposed it could be viewed as a win-win, either way.

After the indictment, they filed out of the courtroom. Boris was led, shackled, down the hall into a sea of reporters, flanked by two members of the LAPD. The FBI brought up the rear, shouting "No comment" to the barrage of questions from the reporters.

"We should head this way," FDR said, jerking his head down the hall the opposite way. "No sense in getting caught up in that."

They headed down the hall and cut off to the side, exiting through an inconspicuous door that led to a stairwell. They followed the stairwell down to the first floor of the building and opened a door. They were deposited into a short hallway that opened to the enormous grand lobby of the building that lead to their exit. Chase and Tuck were parked in front of the building and slightly down the street, and Chase knew FDR was not parked far from them, the three of them having walked into the courthouse together.

"Move fast and keep your heads down," FDR cautioned. "We're not obviously identifiable but we don't need anyone knowing that we're affiliated with the case at all."

They moved quickly down the narrow hallway into the lobby, edging around the perimeter of the grand expanse toward the front doors. There was a huge crowd of reporters from various local media at the base of the winding staircase Boris, flanked by officers, was coming down, clearly having a difficult time getting through. The half-dozen FBI agents who were present, including Marco, Moore and Jackson, began shouting at the reporters to move back, the noise echoing against the hard marble walls. Whistler was slightly behind them, flanked by a pair of officers, carefully keeping him back from the seething crowd.

"Move back!" Marco was shouting, waving his arm angrily at the mob.

"Not until we get a statement!" one of the reporters with a heavy accent shouted out, and the others took up the cry as well.

Chase's ears perked. There was something strangely familiar about the accent, the voice as a whole. In the instant it took everything to come together for her, a burst of automatic gunfire sprayed through the lobby and the next thing she knew, she was hitting the floor, the air whooshing from her lungs. Although her body was in shock, her mind calmly took in the scene – the reporter who had shouted originally, had pulled an Uzi from underneath his jacket. He aimed a spray toward the officers, Boris, and the FBI agents. Chase heard grunts and groans along with panicked screams from the reporters and passers-by as chaos erupted in the lobby.

The cops flanking Boris were down, and so was Boris but she couldn't see if they were alive or dead. The FBI agents were all down, though from gunfire or personal choice she couldn't be sure. She saw Whistler, half-lying, half-slumped on the stairs, blood pooling from several holes punched in his gut and chest. He was dead.

The shooter turned in a circle, spraying his Uzi. People scattered in all directions, some going down. FDR, Tuck and Chase all ducked back toward the hallway, but with a sinking feeling in her gut, she realized that they were weaponless.

"Citizens of Los Angeles," the shooter called, his voice echoing. "My name is Vladimir Andrei."

"Fucking hell," Chase hissed, instinctively lunging forward but Tuck grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back.

"Don't even think about it!" he said through gritted teeth.

"I am here today to take the law into my own hands. Your country has robbed me of one brother. And now, I have lost a second." He aimed his gun at Boris's forehead.

"Brother," Boris gasped. "What are you doing?"

"Anatoly was the brother that meant the most to me," Andrei said to Boris. "You allowed him to die to take control of his empire. You shall not have it, my dear brother. You shall not."

Outside, Chase could already hear the sirens of ambulances and the police and likely SWAT blaring just outside the courthouse. She snuck a peek around the corner of the hallway and saw the cherries flashing in the window.

"Vlad!" Boris shouted. "Do not do this!"

"Goodbye, brother," Andrei said and pulled the trigger, sending a spray into Boris' head and body. He jerked and seized, and in that moment Chase could see that with Andrei's initial burst of automatic gunfire, he'd killed the officers flanking his brother. The FBI agents were all still and silent on the stairs, and the officers that had been next to Whistler were dead as well. Suddenly, she heard a voice crackle through a megaphone outside.

"This is the LAPD," a voice shouted. "Come out with your hands up!"

Andrei lifted his Uzi and sent a spray directly through the front doors, taking out a couple of security guards, before turning on his heel. He glanced around the lobby, and then pointed his Uzi at a frightened woman on the floor.

"You," he said. "Call 911 and then give me your cell phone."

With trembling hands, she obeyed, dialing quickly and tossing him the phone. When the phone was in his hand, he promptly shot her. Chase gasped and Tuck's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Get me to the LAPD outside the courthouse," Andrei was saying calmly into the phone. "I wish to negotiate. Before you ask, I will hold. However, you must understand that if you do not act quickly, I will kill five more hostages." A few moments went by and Andrei started to pace in the hallway, whistling cheerfully. A moment later, he said, "Yes. Is this the gentleman outside with the megaphone?" He paused and listened. "No, I will not come out with my hands up. But you can do something for me. I have a couple dozen hostages here in the lobby and I also have three bombs located in this building set to detonate within thirty minutes. I require a helicopter to land on the roof of this building in fifteen minutes that will take me anywhere I wish to go. If you meet my demands, I will have the bombs disarmed. If you do not meet my demands within the allotted time frame, I will let them detonate. If you outright refuse me, I will detonate them right now and bring this building to the ground."

"Ah, fuck me," FDR mumbled from behind her.

"We have to _do_ something!" Chase hissed over her shoulder.

"You stay put," Tuck whispered harshly.

"You have ten minutes to get back to me," Andrei was saying, then clicked off the phone and dropped it into his pocket.

Chase's mind whirled. She had to get to a gun; if she could just get to a gun, she could take out the threat and everyone would be all right. Then his threat of bombs flew through her mind. In her experience, bomb threats were usually just that – threats. But there was no way to be sure and absolutely no room for error. They had to assume he was telling the truth about the bombs. They needed a bomb squad – which was probably already on the way – to comb the building for the explosives and set to the delicate task of disarming them. If the police were doing what she assumed they were, they were trying to buy time from Andrei to figure out what they were going to do. She bit her lip, surveying the situation. The cops and the FBI were all down. She wasn't sure who was dead and who was still alive, but they were all down and wounded at least. The security guards were down. There was a plethora of people in the lobby, huddling on the floor and trying to take cover behind whatever they could find. There had to be scores of people on the upper floors, going about their daily business. They may or may not already have been alerted to the danger.

Andrei pulled his phone out and dialed again. A moment later, he said, "Hello. It's me again. I forgot to add something to my list of demands. I want one Agent Chase Moreno brought down here. She's the one that killed my dear brother Anatoly. I would like to speak to her."

Chase's head jerked up and she froze, adrenaline flooding through her. She chewed the inside of her cheek; he hadn't seen them in their hiding place.

"Get behind me, now," Tuck growled in her ear.

"No," she whispered. She turned, speaking low and rapidly. "I'm the one he wants. If I can hold him off for a little bit, buy some time, you guys could go back down the hall we came through and go back upstairs. If you hurry, you can cut him off on the staircase. FDR, go outside and tell them we need a bomb squad on the premises immediately and a SWAT team. Tuck, tell people to get out of this building."

"No!" he hissed. "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed!"

"He wants me," Chase replied. "He won't shoot me immediately, he's gonna try to talk me to death first. That buys us a little bit of time. FDR, if you can get them to cause a distraction outside, get his attention, I can get the gun away from him."

"It's suicide," FDR insisted, shaking his head.

"It's suicide if we sit here!" Chase exclaimed in an undertone. "We have to assume he was being serious about the bombs. Our first priority is getting these people out of here. You need to go talk to the cops. So _go!" _

FDR couldn't argue with that logic; he crept backward down the hall, slipping silently through the door into the stairwell.

Tuck's blue eyes flashed angrily at her. "You're _not_ doing this!" he hissed. "I won't let you!"

"Tuck, we might not be law enforcement, but we train hard and we hone our skills," she whispered. "I'm not defenseless. And regardless of what our immediate duties are, our final goal is to do whatever we can to keep our country and its citizens safe. Government agency 101."

"Chase," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice, "he is surely going to kill you. Don't do this. The rest of your plan is good, but this part is shit. You need to come with me now."

"There are other people here, innocent people, that he's planning to kill at some point," she reminded him. "I can't let that happen. I need to distract him."

He glared at her, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could, she reached out and gripped his face with both hands, hauling him in and pressing a hard kiss to his lips.

"Get upstairs, get those people out, do whatever you have to do to find a gun, and meet me on the stairs," she whispered, pushing him back toward the door that FDR had just left through. Before he could say anything else, she got to her feet and walked boldly out into the lobby.

"Andrei," she called. "Here I am. You said you wanted to talk?"

Behind her, she heard the door to the stairwell close softly. She shifted her eyes to Andrei and put her hands in the air, walking slowly toward him. He didn't even point the gun at her, but smiled instead.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "I'm happy that you fell for my little trick. I knew you were in this building somewhere."

Chase swallowed and clenched her jaw. "Well…here I am."

"Indeed," he said, starting to circle her. "How have you been, Agent?"

"Just peachy," she replied, following his movements, refusing to give him her back. "What do you say to letting these folks go?"

"Can't just yet," Andrei said with feigned regret. "I haven't got my helicopter yet. You know how that goes."

"So life's hard for everyone," she replied sarcastically. "Where exactly do you plan on going?"

"Oh, here and there," he said, still smiling pleasantly. "Haven't quite made up my mind just yet."

"So is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" Chase said, still moving slowly. "You wanted to tell me about your big life plans?"

"Well, I just wanted to exchange some pleasantries with you before I kill you," Andrei replied. He smiled admiringly. "I almost did it in Vegas. You're very good, Chase. The agency should be proud to have you." He stopped, holding up a hand with an apologetic smile. "That is, they should have been proud to have had you."

"I'm flattered," Chase said flatly, her muscles starting to tense. She made a point of focusing on his face, letting her peripheral vision take in the location of his gun. His finger was on the trigger and it was now pointed at her gut. She clenched her jaw again. She accepted that the likelihood of her death was pretty high at this point.

_Where are you, Foster?_

As if in reply to her thoughts, she suddenly heard "_Freeze!"_ shouted over the megaphone outside and instinctively dove out of the way toward the floor. Andrei's head whirled from her to the shattered entrance of the lobby as a smoke bomb sailed through the air and hit the ground. He reflexively sent a spray of gunfire toward the entrance and Chase took that opportunity to lurch to her feet and tackle Andrei to the ground, his Uzi going flying and getting lost in the cloud of smoke. He immediately wrenched in her grasp and she tried to duck, but his fist crashed hard into her cheekbone. For a moment she saw stars, unable to move as he got to his feet and ran across the lobby. She twisted her head, seeing him disappear through a door that led to the long, maze-like hallways of the building. She forced herself to her feet, stumbling toward one of the downed cops. She forced herself not to look at his face as she wrenched the cop's standard issue .40 Glock 22 from his holster. She spared just a moment more to ensure that it was fully loaded before she reached down with both hands and tore her skirt up her thigh, allowing her a greater range of motion. As she ran toward the door that Andrei had fled through, she kicked off her high heels and shucked her jacket. She pulled the door open and found herself looking down a long, expansive hallway, doors lining each side.

She twisted her body slightly to the side, holding the gun in front of her as she stole quickly down the hallway, her eyes shifting side to side as her cheek throbbed in time to her steps. She heard a noise to her right, down the hall, and swung the gun in that direction as she crept up toward it. She leaned on the push-bar, noting the exit sign over the door, and cautiously opened it to another stairwell, going in low. She paused on a landing, seeing a staircase extend below her and one above her. She decided to follow her instincts and moved upwards. She heard a door close two flights above her, and began racing up the stairs in that direction.

When she finally reached the door, she was panting, her hair sticking wetly to the back of her neck after falling out of the knot she'd twisted it into that morning. She shoved it open as cautiously before, crouching down. She leaned her back against the doorframe, extending her gun in front of her and then behind her. The hallway seemed clear; it was lined with offices and she sighed internally. She was going to have to do an office-to-office sweep and she hated those.

She ducked in and out of each office, moving quickly and silently down the hall as she cleared them. Fortunately, they were each small, one-person offices and didn't take much time to clear. By this time, she had no idea where anyone else was, where the SWAT team was, any other cops, or Tuck or FDR. She was at least glad to see it appeared that Tuck had been able to get the second floor cleared.

She opened the door to another office, leaning inside, sweeping her gun from side to side. It appeared empty, but she crept toward the desk, her gun trained low. She swung out, and saw that the underside of the desk was clear. She stepped out into the hallway, turning to shut the door behind her.

As she turned around to continue down the hall, a fist crashed into her face and she fell to the floor, the gun falling from her hand.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N - Is this real life? We're getting closer to the end guys. One more chapter I think. DX**

**Chapter 31**

"We've combed the building, sir," a bomb squad expert said to Tuck, jogging up to him in the lobby. The area was still hazy with smoke and since Andrei's initial call to the police, not quite fifteen minutes had elapsed. Since the courthouse was so big, three bomb teams had been sent in to go over the building with SWAT and scent-dogs to sniff out any explosives. The teams had found two of the three bombs. "We haven't located the third bomb."

"You need to make sure everyone is out," Tuck replied curtly. He was in a hurry to get back into the depths of the building to find Chase. "We're running out of time." He'd cleared the upper portion of the building of the employees, ushering them down the stairs. When he'd come back, he'd seen the smoke and saw that both Andrei and Chase were gone. An eye-witness told him that she'd seen them both disappear into the building. Two of the LAPD officers were alive but severely wounded; all four FBI agents were wounded in varying degrees but were also alive. Whistler and Boris and three other officers were dead.

"Sir," the bomb tech hedged. "You should get out of the building yourself."

"Very good advice, mate," Tuck said. "But I need to go back in." Before the conversation could continue, he took off toward the staircase, seeing FDR.

"Feeling up to getting back into the field, mate?" Tuck asked urgently. He needed his help. FDR was still wearing his sling on and off and was technically still supposed to be side-lined, but his eyes flashed and he nodded.

"Yes," he replied. "We need to go try to get her before this thing explodes."

"Let's go." Tuck's voice was clipped as he took off up the stairs, FDR at his heels. Tuck had managed to get a couple firearms off the cops and he handed one to FDR. When they reached the upper area of the building, Tuck glanced from side to side. The top floor was divided into two long halls, almost like a large school. He used hand signals to direct FDR down one hallway and motioned that he would take the other. He waited until he saw the heavy wooden door shut behind FDR as he crept down his section. Tuck turned, passing a main second-floor office, and cautiously and slowly pushed an identical heavy wooden door open, sliding in. There was a long hallway in front of him, lined with offices, and he could see there was another hallway that T'd into the one he was standing in, extending perpendicularly. He poked his head into the first office he passed, sweeping it quickly, and clearing it before continuing on.

His head jerked up when he heard a scream echoing from the next hallway and he sidled toward it as fast as possible. He tilted his head around the corner and gritted his teeth, suppressing both a sigh of relief and a growl of anger.

Chase was struggling with Andrei on the floor, blood flowing from the corner of her mouth. A handgun was a few feet away from them. As he rounded the corner, Andrei drilled his elbow down into Chase's throat and leaned over her, snatching up the gun. Chase sidled away as Andrei hovered over her. He caught sight of Tuck and smiled in an almost friendly manner.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, mate," Tuck said in a clipped tone, rapidly closing in on them. Andrei whirled and trained the gun on Tuck's face even Chase backed away further, turning her head to stare at Tuck. She was about three feet away from him and about ten feet away from Andrei at this point; Tuck clenched his jaw, freezing but not lowering his gun. Andrei saw his hesitation and smiled, turning his wrist and pointing the gun at Chase's head again.

"Not one step closer," Andrei warned Tuck. "Drop your gun or I will put a hole into her pretty, pretty face."

Tuck hesitated, his body tensing as his eyes narrowed. Andrei's finger visibly tightened on the trigger.

Tuck dropped the gun, dangling it off his index finger, opening his hands to show Andrei he was unarmed, and set the gun down. Chase's eyes widened at Tuck, silently berating him for complying.

"There," Tuck said in a low voice, his hands still stretched out in front of him. "Gun's down. No need for anyone to get hurt. Let's have a chat, eh?"

Andrei sighed, lowering his gun slightly. He glanced down at Chase, then back at Tuck. He shook his head.

"No time to chat, my friend," he replied, and promptly pulled the trigger.

Tuck, anticipating the action, had already started moving toward Chase; when he saw Andrei's finger squeeze the trigger, he dove, knocking Chase out of the way as the bullet meant for her slammed into his body. He hit the ground hard with a grunt, landing in front of her and going still.

Chase screamed and grabbed at Tuck even as Andrei turned the gun on her. At that moment, the heavy door at the back of the hall slammed open and FDR raced through them, firing at Andrei. Bullets whizzed and Chase gathered Tuck into her arms, leaning over him to protect his body.

Andrei turned and ran, disappearing beyond another set of wooden doors.

Chase knew she should go after him but instead she clutched Tuck, a sob involuntarily bursting from her throat. He was pale and she cried out at the sight of a large blood stain on the front of his shirt, near his side. Blood pooled underneath him.

"Tuck," she cried. "Tuck!" She shook him, feeling for a pulse. She leaned her ear on his chest and could very faintly hear his heart. Her fingers scrabbled for his wrist and clamped down as FDR raced over, panting harshly as he took in the sight of his best friend.

"No. No! _No!" _he shouted. He joined Chase on the floor. "Tuck! No, man, no!"

"He's alive," Chase choked, "but I don't know where he's been shot. You need to get him out of here and get him to the hospital now!" FDR was gasping for air, struggling to hold back the sobs clawing in his throat. Chase reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Foster!" she screamed. "Do you hear me?"

He nodded rapidly, rising as he pulled Tuck to his feet. Chase remembered his arm then, and was about to suggest using an office phone to call 911 although it made her stomach turn to think about how much time that would waste, when FDR huffed a deep breath and hoisted Tuck over both of his shoulders, staggering under his weight slightly. He grimaced in pain but started down the hall. He turned back slightly, struggling for composure.

"Stay alive, Moreno," he called to her thickly. "Because when he wakes up in the hospital, he's going to fucking kill me if anything happens to you."

"Get going!" Chase cried, then bent to scoop up the gun Tuck had set down. She knew the Russian had a nice little head start but she barreled through the doors after him anyway. Worry and sorrow and rage clawed at her heart as she ran sightlessly down the stairwell the door had opened to. She burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs and whirled her head left and right, seeing nothing but an empty hallway of courtrooms.

"Andrei!" she screamed finally. "Get out here, you _fuck! _You want me, here I am!" She stalked down the hallway. "Your fucking brother Anatoly was a piece of Russian shit!" she continued, saying anything to draw him out. "You should know I loved sticking him with that needle, watching him slide to the floor off that stool!"

Silence met her ears, but it was a thick, heavy silence and she knew she had an audience.

"I watched the light go out of his eyes!" she shrieked. "It was a career highlight for me!"

Finally, a door at the end of the hall creaked open and Andrei swung out, an insane, enraged light in his eyes that matched the one in her heart. She watched his gun swing up and fire off several shots in her direction but she ran fast toward him, zigzagging as she brought her own gun up.

She felt a bullet graze her arm, the hot metal slicing neatly through her skin like it was butter, but she hardly registered the pain, too intent on getting to him. He went dry just as she reached him, but before she could level her arm to take the shot, he lowered his head and charged her like a bull, his head slamming into her stomach and knocking the air out of her lungs. The gun flew from her fingers as they rolled ass-over-tea-kettle down the hall. His hands scrabbled for her throat but she thrashed violently against him. She flung the heel of her hand upward into his face, connecting satisfyingly with his nose and she heard an audible crunch the moment before blood poured. He howled in pain, backing away, and she started a vicious onslaught of blows and kicks toward him. He was a larger man, but he was fast, managing to deflect her blows as he moved toward the gun and simultaneously tried to keep her away from it.

She lashed out with a hard right hook, catching him in the side of the temple and sending him keeling backward, but he didn't fall. She aimed a well-placed roundhouse kick to his chest and he stumbled back even further. She had another six feet before she'd be within range of the gun. She charged towards him with a cry, letting her training and muscle memory take over as she continued her onslaught.

He deflected her next punch and followed up with a hard, stiff jab to her forehead, making her head snap back as she stumbled. She fell, but she quickly rolled backward onto her feet before he could pounce on her. She saw his wild left hook fly at her and ducked, letting his momentum work against him as she helped him face-first into the wall. As he wobbled on his feet, she turned for the gun. She managed two running steps before he caught her left arm and jerked.

She heard an audible pop as her shoulder came out of the socket and screamed in pain, wrenching away and on instinct, turned and slammed the back of her fist into the side of his face before thrusting the heel of her foot into his gut. As her arm hung limply, uselessly at her side, she fell to her knees, reaching out for the gun. His huge hand closed around her hair, yanking her head back as she heard bones in her neck snap and throwing her back against the wall like a ragdoll. She lay, panting.

"Where is it," he muttered to himself, casting around for the gun. "_Where is it!"_

"Looking for this?"

Chase tiredly held up the gun, and Andrei roared like a feral beast and charged her. As if in slow motion, she weakly raised the gun, her hand, her entire arm shaking, and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into his forehead.

She watched, almost fascinated, as his head snapped back, blood spraying, and he collapsed in a motionless heap on the floor. For a long moment, she couldn't move. Then in her mind, she heard the echo of a voice.

_Three bombs set to detonate within thirty minutes._

She used her right hand to hold up her left wrist, unable to move it, pain shooting through every fiber of her body. She had noted the exact time of Andrei's announcement of the bombs in the lobby, and according to her digital wristwatch, she had two minutes and thirteen seconds to get out. She struggled to her feet, moving as fast as she could back down the hallway, clutching her left arm with her right as she went. The layout of the building was confusing, but she followed her instincts back to the stairwell. If she crossed the landing to the other door, that should put her back toward the front of the building.

The door opened into yet another hallway of offices. At the end of the grand hallway, she could make out a sign. It said "Lobby" with an arrow pointing in the correct direction. She started jogging down the hall as fast as she could go, her wounded shoulder jouncing painfully with every step until she was gasping from the excruciation. She turned into the lobby, happy to see that it was cleared of people and she limped toward the door.

"_Let's go!" _a SWAT officer yelled at her from the shattered door. He took several running steps away. "_Hurry!"_

She willed her bare feet to move faster, risking a glance at her watch. Twenty-seven seconds to go.

"Did he make it?" she called out to the officer as she reached the door. "Tuck, did he _make it?"_

She was about to open her mouth to repeat her question as her feet hit the marble stairs of the front of the building when a deafening roar met her ears and an incredible wave of pressure, heat and noise blew her off her feet and through the air. She barely had time to register the shock when she slammed into the side of a news van, and everything went black.

:O:O:O:

_Tuck_.

It was her first thought when she came to. She was familiar with the feeling and construction of a hospital bed, and she jerked her limbs reflexively, sucking in a deep breath as she felt the IV drip of pain medication in her arm tug painfully. She felt like she couldn't open her eyes no matter how hard she tried. She remembered everything, and she needed to go. Now.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," a deep voice said, and she felt a hand on the middle of her chest, pushing gently. "Take it easy."

_Tuck_, she thought again, her throat constricting, before logic took over. _Not Tuck. No accent._

She willed her eyes to open, and they did, just a crack. She squinted up at FDR as he smiled down at her. His arm was wrapped in a fresh sling and his face was smudged with black ash.

"Tuck?" she asked weakly, as pain slammed into her. Her left shoulder ached incredibly although she knew from experience it had been pushed back into the socket. Her right shoulder stung from the graze she'd taken, and her whole body settled into the all-too familiar ache of a hard fight – something she'd been experiencing rather frequently these days.

"Tuck?" she asked again. "Frank, tell me –" The heart monitor she was attached to picked up speed as her panic rose.

"Easy," FDR said, pushing her back again. "Tuck's all right. He's alive."

All of her breath left her lungs in a loud _whoosh_ and she squeezed her eyes closed tightly.

"He'd put on a vest before he came after you and it helped slow the bullet down. Still went into him, but it was shallow and didn't fragment or hit any organs. Lucky fucking bastard. Just left a nice little hole in his side and he's gonna be sore, but he's gonna be _fine."_

She was so tired, so exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally, and so _relieved_, that she started to weep. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried, maybe sometime before she and her fiancé had broken up, but now, it was the only thing she could think of to do – lie there helplessly while silent tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes. She didn't even try to stop them.

FDR cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, but he took her hand and squeezed it gently. "'S'a'right, Chase," he said finally. "He's ok." Chase nodded weakly and sniffled, biting her lip finally to try and ebb the flow of tears. "And meanwhile," FDR went on to fill in the silence, "your left shoulder was dislocated and you got grazed by a bullet apparently. Not to mention all the cuts and bruises all over the damn place. And do you _ever _wear shoes on missions?"

"High heels are not exactly optimal for chasing down criminals," she replied, although the thought of her poor designer shoes, blown to smithereens, hurt her heart.

"Yeah, well, maybe leave the expensive shit at home next time." FDR walked over to the chair and held up a plastic bag. Chase twisted her head and her mouth fell open, seeing her shoes inside.

"My shoes!" she exclaimed. "You saved them!"

"I had a 'what would Lauren do' moment," he replied. "You're welcome."

Chase managed a half-smile then groaned. "When can I get out of here?" she asked.

"Today," FDR replied. "They were waiting for you to wake up." He glanced at his watch. "Collins is going to be here soon to see you, so you can't leave until then. She's going to help you out-process out of here and get your bags out of Tuck's place." He sighed. "I've got a _shitload _of paperwork to do now."

"I killed him," Chase whispered. "Andrei. I killed him." Strangely, it didn't feel as good as she thought it would. Maybe because she didn't necessarily want him dead; she just wanted him apprehended.

FDR smiled at her almost sadly, knowingly. "You got your man," he said lightly. After a moment, he reached for her hand again. "You'll probably be gone before I'll get to see you again," he said softly. "So I just want you to know…it was a pleasure to meet you." He brought his lips briefly to her knuckles. "Thanks for everything. I, uh – I really hope you and Tuck can figure something out. The guy's crazy about you."

It was all a little too much for her at that moment and Chase folded her lips inward, unable to say anything in reply because of the huge lump in her throat. She felt tears in her eyes as she managed a smile and a nod for FDR.

He read her reaction and patted her hand. "I'll tell Lauren and Trish goodbye for you," he said softly.

"Thanks, FDR," she managed thickly. She gave him another watery smile. "You're a good man."

When he left, she dropped her head onto her pillow and turned it away, letting the tears roll freely.

:O:O:O:

When Collins came to pick her up, she helped Chase get dressed, since her arm was in a sling, and helped her gather her belongings. Chase knew it was highly unusual for the site director to come personally, but Chase decided that it was because Collins cared about her agents much more than she would ever really let on.

She stopped by Tuck's room before they left. He was hooked up to an IV and was still knocked out from his brief surgery to dig out the slug in his side. She clenched her jaw at the thought. _He took a bullet…for you._

Collins was going to drive her to Tuck's place, FDR having loaned her his key, and Chase was going to get all of her things. She was being put up in a hotel near the airport for the night before flying back to New York early the next morning. She wouldn't even get a chance to say goodbye to Tuck.

"I'll give you a moment," Collins said. "I'll get the out-processing paperwork started."

"Thanks," Chase whispered. She turned back to Tuck and approached his bed. She leaned over him, biting her lip, and finally bent down, gently kissing his lips, his cheek and forehead. She leaned her forehead against his temple for a moment, inhaling his scent.

"Good bye, Tuck," she whispered. After a moment, she pulled herself up, trailing her fingers down his cheek before turning away and walking out of the room.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N - We're back with the conclusion of The Unexpected Partner! There will be one more chapter after this one (I know I said that one chapter ago). Anyway...enjoy!**

**Chapter 32**

_Tuck,_

_I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to have a proper goodbye. My return to New York was expedited faster than I was prepared for as my boss wanted to bring me back home as soon as possible. I did stop by to see you in the hospital before I left, but I wanted to leave you something more personal. FDR gave Collins the key to your loft so I could come back to get all of my things so I'm writing you this note as she's waiting for me downstairs. _

_I can't tell you how happy I was to hear that you're going to be okay. It was such a relief when FDR told me that you'll make a full recovery, that you just need to baby yourself for a little while and you'll be back to kicking ass and taking names in no time. I guess you should probably lay off the paintball for a little bit, though, huh?_

_There are no words that I can use to tell you what it meant to me that you took a bullet for me. I can honestly say no man has ever done so much :-) It defies description, other than to leave me with a sense of utter humility and gratitude. You saved my life, Tuck, at the expense of almost losing your own. While I can't accurately form any other words to explain how that makes me feel…know that despite whatever happens between us, I will ALWAYS be indebted to you and will always have your back, no matter where I am in the world. _

_The past two weeks have been nothing short of amazing. I came here to do a job, which I did…but I didn't expect to meet someone like you. You're the most amazing man I've ever met…you're strong, kind, tough, gentle, loving and really, really beautiful. I can say that I left Los Angeles a different person than when I arrived and I owe that to you. _

_I know that our lives are crazy. Our jobs are crazy. The amount of time that we actually get to spend at home is rarely more than a month at a time. I don't know what that means for you and me. I WANT there to be a "you and me". I just don't know how to do it. I love what I do and you love what you do, so how do we meet in the middle?_

_At any rate, I hope that you'll stay in touch with me. I would love to come visit you and Joe, FDR and Lauren, Trish, Bob, and Nana (even Buckethead) again. I'd love to show you New York, too…the real New York. _My _New York. And don't forget…I promised your lovely, amazing son a trip to Coney Island. Tell him I really loved meeting him, and he's pretty much the most awesome kid I've ever met. Tell him not to forget to point his knee to the ground and flex his foot on his side kicks. And tell him I haven't forgotten I owe him a Mortal Kombat beat down and that I always pay my debts. Tell him I'll miss tucking him into the couch at night and I'll miss his sloppy, weird , amoeba-like but yummy pancakes. And tell him the entry fee into New York, at least as far as I'm concerned, is a triple-decker peanut butter banana sandwich with the crusts cut off. _

_Tuck…there's so much more I want to say. So much more I want to tell you. But I have to go. Collins is waiting for me…and so is New York. _

_Thank you for opening your case, your life, your home and your heart to me. I'll never forget it, or you, and I already miss you._

_Love,_

_Chase_

:O:O:O:

Tuck read her note three times in a row, his eyes skimming over it quickly. Each time he read it, he picked up on something new. Her handwriting was small, neat, clear. The paper itself smelled like her perfume and there was a sheer pink lip imprint at the bottom, as though she'd kissed it before leaving it for him on his nightstand.

He'd found it when he'd come into his bedroom after FDR had brought him home. He'd been silent from the time he'd been told she'd left until he'd come home. He'd come upstairs and immediately spotted the note on the nightstand, while the full realization that her presence was gone hit him like a ton of bricks.

Now, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, her note clutched in his fingers. He wasn't sure if the note helped or hurt. He was glad she'd done it, that he had something from her that was this personal, this touching. But it made the fact that she was gone all the more painful.

"Hey, buddy," FDR said, breaking into his reverie. He looked up, seeing his best friend leaning in the doorway. He sighed and folded the note, tucking it away in his nightstand drawer.

"That from her?" FDR asked softly, nodding toward the nightstand. Tuck nodded silently, staring at the wall. FDR chewed his lip; he'd never seen Tuck this way, so down, and had no idea how he could help. He cleared his throat. "You call her yet?"

"She's still in the air," Tuck replied. "Six hours from here to New York."

"Dude, you should take some time off and just go visit her, man," FDR exclaimed. "Go see her. Jesus, you're making _me_ want to cry. And you _know_ I don't cry."

"You do, though, yeah," Tuck said immediately, still staring off into space. "That one time in Brussels. After that thing in the bar."

"I didn't cry," FDR said sternly. "I wasn't crying. That was – I had gotten, like, this splinter thing in my eye or some –"

"You were cryin', mate," Tuck said, finally meeting his best friend's eyes. He half-smirked. FDR grinned back, glad he'd managed to lighten the mood, even if it was at his own expense.

"Listen, man," he said. "We could order a pizza, have some beers, watch some really violent action movies. Have you feeling better in no time. Then later on, you can call her, talk to her."

"Sure," Tuck said, forcing a smile for FDR's benefit. "Sounds like a plan."

"Yes!" FDR pumped a fist in the air. "I'll call Lauren, let her know not to wait up for me and then order the pie."

"Wait up for you?" Tuck echoed, following him downstairs. "Mate, it's, like, noon."

At that moment, FDR's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. "Collins," he told Tuck, before answering the call. "Yes, ma'am." He paused listening for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Now, ma'am? I just brought him home from the hospital." He listened some more. "Yes, ma'am. All right. We'll be right in."

Tuck looked at him questioningly. He wasn't really trying to go anywhere; he'd just been shot in the side, for Christ's sake.

"Have to put the pizza and beer on hold for a little while, man," FDR said, tucking the phone back in his pocket. "Collins asked us to come in just for a moment to talk about a new case."

"A _new _bloody case?" Tuck exclaimed. "The dust has hardly settled from _this _case."

"Let's just go see what she's talking about," FDR said. "We'll be back in no time."

They _were _back in no time, but it wasn't to relax. It was to pack.

Collins was concerned for their safety now that both the Kozlovs _and _Andrei were dead. That had been part of the reason why Chase had been sent home so abruptly, she told them. There was bound to be some retaliation attempts on them if they stayed, so she had cast about and found a very low-key but long-term espionage assignment for them in Prague; apparently, one of the major pharmaceutical companies there was suspected, according to chatter, of developing things in their laboratories potentially of a dangerous nature, viruses and potential biological warfare, and attempting to smuggle them into the United States to try and sell on the black market. Collins wanted them to go take jobs for two to three months at this company and quietly – she stressed _quietly _– obtain any information and bring it back to the US. It would give Tuck a chance to heal, she said, this case being relatively low-stress, and take an extended vacation in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And, she added, they'd be leaving in two days.

FDR had grumbled; being a newlywed, it wasn't easy for him to go home and tell his brand new wife he'd be leaving for a secret location for a few months with limited contact with her. Luckily, Lauren was relatively understanding, although she was somewhat upset. FDR promised to try and email her when he could, but he couldn't disclose his and Tuck's location or what they'd be doing.

_There goes New York_, Tuck thought dryly. _Such is the life of a spy._ He hated to admit it, but maybe Chase did have a point. How could they make anything work when one of them was constantly leaving? And despite the fact that they were both spies, he couldn't divulge any more information to her than FDR could to his own wife.

Tuck had cancelled pizza/beer/movie night. FDR needed to spend these last couple days with his wife; they had at least two to three months of bonding time in Prague, so Tuck would be fine for a couple nights on his own. But there was one person he could see and spend time with.

He called Katie to tell her he was going on assignment and asked to pick up Joe. Pizza and beer with FDR turned into pizza and soda with his son, and they rented several movies that Tuck made Joe promise _never _to disclose to his mother he'd been allowed to watch, and while Joe played video games, Tuck quickly did several loads of laundry and some packing before settling in with his son.

He kept glancing at his watch. Chase should be landing any time now; he hoped she'd call when she was safely back at home. He decided to tell Joe that Chase had gone back to New York; the boy took it harder than Tuck expected, but he read Chase's letter, the part she'd written about Joe, to him and he brightened.

"When can we go visit her, Dad?" Joe asked. "Soon?"

"Well, son," Tuck said slowly, sighing inwardly. If there was one aspect to being a spy that he hated…this was it. "Dad has to go away for a little while. I have a new job to do."

"A new mission?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Tuck replied. "A new mission. And I'll be gone two or three months." His heart clenched when Joe's face fell.

"That's a long time," Joe said. "Can I go with you?"

"No, son," Tuck said softly. "You can't go with me. But I'll tell you what. When I get back, we _will _take a trip somewhere. How does that sound?"

"I want to go to New York," Joe said. "And visit Chase. And bring her a sandwich like she asked for. And go to Coney Island. And play Mortal Kombat with her again. I want her to come live _here_ with us."

"I know, son," Tuck said, dropping a hand onto Joe's head lightly. "I know. But Chase has the same job I do. There's no telling what she'll be up to by then."

Joe nodded, falling silent. After a moment, he said, "I'll miss you, Dad."

"I'll miss you too, Joe," Tuck replied, ruffling his hair. "But your mum and Nana and Aunt Lauren are going to keep you very busy, you'll hardly notice I was gone. Just don't grow too much while I'm away."

"I can't control that," Joe chided. "But I'll try."

Joe had fallen asleep on the couch after two movies and a box and a half of pizza when Tuck's phone rang. He glanced at it, saw who it was, and leapt to his feet. He glanced at Joe, noting his son's sleeping face. Tuck took to the stairs, answering as he went.

"Chase," he said.

"Hi," and with that one simple word, spoken so warmly, so wistfully, he grew warm all over and his pulse picked up speed.

"How are you, love?" he asked. "How was the flight?"

"Long," she replied. "Tuck, I – I miss you so much already."

He was shocked at her words and the depth of emotion in her voice; he certainly did not expect either one.

"I had six hours on a plane to think about it, and you, and us," she went on, "and it just hit me somewhere over Nebraska that I really, really want to try and make this thing work. Would you please come out to New York? Maybe next week or the week after? I have to see you. I just have to."

Her words made him both incredibly happy and incredibly sad. She _would _ask him to come…during the time when he'd be away. He sighed heavily.

"What is it?" she asked gently. "Sorry…did I…say too much? Too much pressure?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "Oh, God, no. Chase, that's all I want to hear from you. It's just…Collins just today assigned FDR and I to a new case."

"What?" Chase exclaimed. "You were just _shot!"_

"I know, I know," he said. "But she's concerned that we might be targeted for retaliation by the Russians, and said that this case will be extremely low-key, intelligence-gathering only. She said it would give me time to heal properly." He paused. "You know I would tell you where, but…"

"No, I know," she said quickly. "I know. It's fine. I just….when do you leave? Can you take a little weekend trip here first?"

"Sweetheart, I leave the morning after tomorrow," Tuck said, knowing the worst was still yet to come.

"Damn," Chase muttered. "All right. What about when you get back? How long are you going to be there?"

"Two to three months, love," he said quietly. Chase went absolutely silent on the other end of the line. After a long pause, Tuck said, "I'm so sorry. I know this couldn't have come at a worse time."

"No, it couldn't have," Chase said with a humorless, rueful laugh. "Two to three months. Wow. I assume no contact with base?"

"Not very much," Tuck replied. "I likely can't call you, Chase, but I can at least email you sometimes." _How romantic, Tuck. You've really outdone yourself._

"Anything from you would be great," she said softly. "I'll take what I can get."

"I'm sorry, Chase," Tuck apologized again. Her disappointment was palpable and it matched his own. "Trust me, I would love _nothing _more than to come to New York and see you, hold you. Kiss you."

He thought he heard a sniffle, but when she spoke again, her voice was unwavering. "Tuck, I'm not going anywhere," she said. "At least not figuratively. And probably not literally, at least for a few months. It's going to take ten weeks, the doctor says, for my shoulder to heal. Unless my boss gives me an assignment like yours, I'll be behind a desk here. So…if you can, let me know when you think you'll be back and I'll make arrangements. But I'll be here," she finished softly. "I'll be here."

"I wouldn't ask you to wait for me," Tuck replied. "But I do hope you will."

Chase sighed again. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Or some such nonsense."

"I don't know," Tuck teased gently. "My heart is already pretty fond of you." He was rewarded with a light laugh from Chase.

"Dad?" Joe's sleepy voice called. "Can I have another blanket?"

"Yes, son," he called back, then turned back into the phone. "Love, I've got Joe here. I'm trying to spend a little time with him before I go, but can I call you tomorrow?"

"Of course," she hurried to say. "Tell Joe I said hi and give him a kiss for me. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Get some sleep then," he said softly, "good night."

"Sweet dreams, Tuck," she said.

"And to you," he replied.

Tuck hung up the phone, his heart feeling both heavy and light at the same time. He sighed.

_Such is the life of a spy, _he thought again, then headed down the stairs to his son.

:O:O:O:

Twelve weeks passed.

Chase settled back into her life in New York, working at the field office as she mended from her wounds. Her shoulder started feeling better around the eighth week after arriving back home. With the help of physical therapy and a personal trainer, she began lifting weights and working out again, starting with very light weights and gradually increasing. Over the last two weeks, she'd started sparring again to keep up with her martial arts training. She'd go straight from her desk to the locker room to the on-site gymnasium her site offered and she'd spar with Brad, the resident trainer. He was a good sparring partner and she quickly built her technique up to where it had been, regaining her strength and agility. It was also therapeutic; she had a lot of pent up emotions, most of them unhappy. Between throwing herself into work and throwing herself into the gym, she arrived back at her apartment drained and exhausted, too tired to do anything but eat a quick dinner standing up at the sink in the kitchen before shuffling to bed and calling it a night, only to wake up and do it again in the morning.

Her parents and her friends were definitely worried about her; Chase had gradually become a workaholic, and a very grouchy person. She stopped meeting her friends every Wednesday night for martinis like they always had. She only showed up for Sunday dinner at her parents' home twice a month instead of every week. Her work performance excelled, but her coworkers avoided her, as Chase was less and less discerning with her biting words and sarcastic temperament.

And it was because somewhere over the last twelve weeks, Tuck had stopped writing.

At first, he'd sent emails several times a week. Long emails that made her feel like it was Christmas morning when she opened them. She got to a point where she would jump whenever her email alert went off, expecting and hoping it to be him. Sometimes it was, usually it wasn't, but when she did receive an email from him, she would wait to read it until she had some privacy. His emails were touching, funny, descriptive, sometimes sexy, and full of all the things they hadn't been able to say to each other. She would respond in kind, spending hours writing to him, responding to every question asked, giving him mostly every detail of her life and asking for his. But somewhere around the fourth week, his emails had dropped off to once a week and were shorter, curter. And then a few weeks after that, they'd stopped altogether.

At first, Chase had panicked, thinking the worst had happened. She'd called the field office in LA first, but had been told that Agents Hansen and Foster were still on assignment and were doing "well". Chase hadn't been completely satisfied with that answer and had next called Lauren, knowing that she had to be hearing from FDR regularly. Lauren had said that while FDR's emails had dropped off in frequency, she was still hearing from him. She told Chase that FDR had mentioned that things were picking up for him and Tuck, getting busier. She told her that Tuck had recovered from his wound and that in general, wherever they were, they were doing well. At that Chase had been satisfied, but she'd also been hurt. Really, really hurt. How was it possible that Lauren could still be hearing from FDR, even if it was irregular, and she had heard nothing from Tuck in weeks? To make matters worse, he hadn't been opening any of the emails that she'd sent him. She typically received "read receipts" on her email when something she'd sent had been picked up and opened, but he'd stopped opening her emails, too. The logical conclusion to make was that he was no longer interested in her, and had likely met someone else.

_What else could it be? He's alive, he's well even, and he's ignoring you. He's moved on._

She supposed that three months could be considered an adequate amount of time apart from someone to lose interest. She didn't know where they were, but she assumed that there was some population of women there, and it wasn't hard to imagine that someone as good-looking and charming as Tuck could receive lots of attention from lots of attractive women.

And so, she withdrew.

:O:O:O:

It was a Friday afternoon, the end of another long and uneventful week, and Chase leaned her chin on her hand. Her boss had forbidden her from any field work until she'd been thoroughly cleared by a doctor. Her next doctor's appointment was set for next week, and she hoped she'd be somewhere on assignment, in the furthest corner of the world, before too long.

The rest of her shift passed along at a snail's pace, but finally four-thirty arrived, and she packed up her things, flicked off her desk light and made a beeline for the locker room. She quickly changed into a pair of black yoga pants, a bright pink sports bra and a loose, boxy cropped T-shirt. She swept her hair up into a ponytail and headed into the gym. She was a little early, she knew, but Brad would be along shortly and then she could take out her frustrations. She was particularly sour today, due in part to her general disposition as of late and also the fact that she'd gotten very little sleep. She'd had an extremely vivid dream shortly after going to bed of Tuck. It had been a stylized, idealized version of all of their sexual escapades they'd had together all rolled into one marathon session, and it left her shuddering, gasping and sweating in her sleep. She could feel everything, taste everything, hear and see _everything_. It had been so real she'd been sure he was right next to her; it took her several long moments to understand that it was only a dream she'd had, and the disappointment at that realization combined with the empty, deep ache of missing him had done nothing to improve the quality of either her day or her overall mood.

She needed to hit something, hard and repeatedly.

"Hey, Chase," she heard a voice call. She glanced up, seeing Liza, the site's wellness coordinator. She was accompanied by a person wearing the self-defense armor that the instructors wore, and that Brad usually wore when they sparred.

"Hey, Liza," she called back. "Where is Brad?"

"He had to go home early," she replied. "Had an emergency come up."

"He ok?" Chase asked, her brow creasing in concern.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Liza said. "Said he'd be back Monday, anyway. This is John. He's new, he'll be filling in for Brad today."

Chase smirked at him coldly. She couldn't make out anything about him beyond the heavy padding and beekeeper-esque helmet he wore other than the fact that he was about a half a foot taller than her. But it didn't make the slightest bit of difference. He was just a body, something to take the abuse she was planning on dishing out. Who he was or what he looked like meant nothing at all to her.

"Hope you're ready for this," she muttered, rolling her head around her shoulders and stretching out her arms.

In reply, John adopted a fighting stance, shifting his weight, and bringing his hands up into guard. She couldn't tell but she assumed he was staring at her. She rolled her head again and hopped lightly from one foot to the other, dropping into a Muay Thai stance. She narrowed her eyes a beat before she rushed him, her fists jabbing out rapidly, so fast she was a blur.

Chase preferred Muay Thai above all other forms of martial arts; she loved the incredibly fast, high-energy, knife-sharp moves of the Thai street-style boxing. It was just dirty enough to satisfy the teenage scrapper in her soul, but elegant and graceful in its own brutal way, requiring all of her muscles' engagement together the same way ballet had so long ago.

She didn't know what style this guy preferred to fight in, had no idea if he even knew Muay Thai. She didn't particularly care. She knew that technically that wasn't fair fighting, but she wasn't concerned with fighting fair this time around. But he seemed to pick up on her movements quickly until he mirrored her style. He was good; she had to give him that. He was fast, really fast; faster than Brad. Brad was a traditional boxer, with less emphasis on speed and more on power. This guy was incredibly fast, bobbing and weaving, jabbing and crossing with dexterity.

And, as his wrapped knuckles slammed into her lead shoulder, luckily her uninjured one, she realized he was strong.

She growled, her shoulder humming down to the bone as she scampered back. John shuffled his feet quickly, changing direction rapidly. Though he wore a long-sleeve Under Armor shirt down to his wrists, it was tight enough that she could see every muscular ridge in his arms, his torso, and his back as he flexed and moved. He wore black Adidas wind pants and tennis shoes while she was barefoot. She preferred to fight that way, although between the guy's height and build and obvious skill, she was getting a teeny, tiny bit intimidated.

She shook herself quickly at the thought. _Fuck him_, she thought angrily, bringing her fists back up to guard. _Take his ass down, Moreno._

They circled each other for a little bit, Chase not taking her eyes from his shoulder line. John lashed out with a jab which she ducked easily, having seen it coming. She continued to hop from foot to foot, her fists still up by her face in a loose guard. He jabbed out again, which she ducked nimbly, dancing toward the right on quick feet. John swung out with a hook followed immediately by another hook from the other direction. She barely managed to duck it, but was able to grab his arm with her opposite hand and yank it down as she twisted to give him her back. Her front hand cracked back, the back of her fist knocking against the mask. His head snapped back and she shoved him away, dancing back away from him.

As was her personal tactic in hand-to-hand, she remained on the defensive, not engaging him first but watching him carefully to see what he'd do next. Her eyes were glued to his shoulder-line to see from where his next punch would come.

He launched an attack toward her, starting with a jab-cross-hook combo; she deflected all his punches, moving backward rapidly, but he used his leg to wedge around hers, throwing her off balance, taking her out of her guard. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides with one arm, the other one wrapping tightly around her shoulders and up by her neck. She jerked in his arms but she wasn't going anywhere. A strange sense of déjà vu fell over her in that moment as his arms tightened around her.

"Give it up," he whispered in her ear. "I've won."

The words clutched at the rational part of her mind, ringing a bell of memory in her brain, desperate to place them, but her pride took over, as well as a deep-rooted wrath.

"Like hell!" she hissed back, wrenching one arm from his grasp. She brought it straight up through his arms and turned simultaneously. She grabbed one of his arms and took a running sideways step, then used the momentum to hurl him over her shoulder onto the mat hard, flat on his back. The air left his lungs in a hard exhaled grunt and she jumped on his chest, her knees pinning his arms to the ground. She gathered his tight black shirt in one balled fist, yanking hard, and cocked the other fist back by her ear, preparing to drill it down onto his mask, into his face, and hopefully to knock his teeth down his stupid, smug throat.

The collar of his shirt strained in her fist, and a flash of smooth tanned skin caught her eye, and something else.

Curving under his left collarbone, in swirling script, was the word "Padre".


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N - and now the conclusion of The Unexpected Partner. It's sappy but I hope you guys don't mind. Without further ado...**

**Chapter 33**

Her hands dropped to her sides like they were made of lead as her pulse picked up to an inhuman speed, blood roaring loudly in her ears.

She stared down at him, unable to see through the thick mesh of his mask, her eyes wide. She blinked numbly down at him, even as his hands came to her waist to hold her in place as he slowly sat up, his abs flexing and contracting with the movement. When he was all the way upright, with her straddled in his lap, he took a hold of her hands and brought them slowly to the side of his face mask, silently encouraging her.

A tiny bit of strength came back into her arms as she weakly tugged the mask upward, one tiny movement after the other. The masked slipped up to his chin, then slowly past his lips until his full, pouty mouth was visible, and a tiny whimper escaped her throat. Her hands slipped slightly, but he caught them and pressed them gently against each side of the mask again, imploring her to complete her task. She pulled the mask up quickly then, throwing it to the side and found herself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes, wide with emotion. His hair was wet, slicked with the sweat from the heat of the mask and their fight, and his mouth curved up slightly on one side as her hands came to rest lightly on his chest as she stared at him mutely.

"Hello, love," he whispered, his hands now on the floor at his sides as if he were afraid to touch her.

She sucked in a shaky breath before throwing herself against him, practically knocking him back. He chuckled quietly and wrapped his arms around her slowly, gathering her up into his chest before resting his cheek on her head.

"Tuck," she managed shakily in a tiny voice. Her hands pawed at his back as she lifted her face.

"How are you, sweeth –" he started, but Chase threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips hard to his until he couldn't breathe. But he didn't care; who needed to breathe?

When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were fierce. His hands came to either side of her face and in that moment, he realized how much he'd truly missed her.

He realized something else too; he saw it mirrored in her eyes.

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to speak. "Tuck," she started thickly, then stopped, pausing as she struggled to keep it together. "I—" She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and tried again. "Tuck –" Her eyes suddenly shone brightly with the onset of tears and she gestured impatiently at her face with her hand, clearly annoyed with her emotional display.

"I'll say it," he rushed to say. He lifted his brows at her, nodding to make sure she was on board. "Yeah? I'll say it?" She nodded, biting her lip as her face crumped slightly. "I love you, Chase. I love you. And you love me, too."

She nodded, gripping his shoulders as she leaned her forehead against his neck. He dropped his lips onto her hair as his arms resumed their place around her. Her hands stroked up and down his back and for a long moment they just held each other, completely unaware of time or space; only invested in the feeling of pressing themselves against each other.

Finally, Chase lifted her head again and met his eyes. "We have some catching up to do," she said lightly, but there was a slight edge to her voice and Tuck knew she was upset with him; he knew, in fact, that he'd made her very unhappy for the past month or so, and he knew he owed her an explanation. It was evident in every line of her; when he'd first walked into the gym and been mere feet from her, he'd seen the rigid way she held herself. She looked a bit thinner, as though she weren't eating properly or enough, or working herself too hard, or stressing about something – _him_ – and her face was hard, cold, angry.

"Yes, we do," Tuck replied, watching as she got to her feet. He stood up after her, not taking his eyes from her. She stared back, wrapping her arms around herself.

"We can go to my place," she said finally. "Do you have a suitcase or anything?"

"Behind the door there," he replied. "I did book a hotel room but I came straight here from the airport."

She nodded, her eyes moving all over him. "Let's go."

:O:O:O:

She'd had every intention of bitching him out; of yelling at him, railing at him, giving full vent to the pain and hurt and anguish he'd caused her for so long. She'd refrained from speaking to him on the train, during the walk back to her apartment, in the elevator, even down the hall. _Just wait, _she'd told herself. _Then you can let him have it._

She'd let him inside and as he passed, while she was locking the door and hooking the security chain back, she boiled over to herself about what she would say, how she would say it, whether or not she'd let herself cry. She'd quickly decided against the latter; she never cried, not really, and she wasn't about to start. Not only that but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. _No, sir._

When she'd gotten herself nicely worked up and agitated, she whirled to face him, her eyes snapping fire as the first of many curse words bubbled to her lips. But whatever she wanted to say died before they hit her tongue, because Tuck had taken off his sweaty shirt and was rummaging through his bag for a dry one. He hadn't found it yet but he looked up to give her his attention, expecting to be yelled at. She could only stare at him for a moment; had he gotten even bulkier? Or had his muscles just been that big and chiseled before and she hadn't really noticed?

_Three months can really fuck with a person,_ she thought.

Instead of yelling at him, she took three running steps and tackled him, and he caught her as he fell onto the thick, soft rug on her wooden living room floor.

He grunted when his back hit the floor, but he had no time to catch his breath as her mouth landed on his, kissing his lips hard before hers opened and her tongue slipped out. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he caught her tongue and grabbed her head, pulling her closer, his body also reminding him how much he'd missed her. She was lying flat against his stomach, straddling his torso, and he bit back a groan when he felt her pelvis grind down hard on his.

She pulled back slightly, panting, her eyes hooded. "I'll cuss you out later," she whispered, "but, dammit, I've missed you, Tuck."

"I've missed you, love," Tuck murmured against her mouth, not wanting her lips to go anywhere. His hands slid to her hips and he pressed them down against him slightly as he lifted his hips up, creating a delicious friction that immediately pulled a whine from her. "I've missed you so much." He ground his hips upward once more.

"_Shit_," she whimpered, dropping her mouth back to his, and they stayed like that for a long time, kissing with hard, desperate passion, grinding together through their clothes on her wooden floor.

He was panting harshly when he pulled her face from his slightly, raking his hands through her hair.

"Fuck, I need you, Chase. Now."

He was so hard, it was beginning to ache. His body cried out for her, for release with her, in her, to give her release as well. In reply, she moved off of him quickly, and as he pulled his wind pants down, taking his socks and shoes with them, he watched eagerly as she stripped off her T-shirt followed by her pink sports bra. He literally salivated, eyeing her body, his chest beginning to heave as she rose to her knees beside him, inching her black yoga pants down and revealing a lacy white thong.

"Off, off," he begged in a whisper, tugging her pants down her legs for her. Her hands came to his hips and yanked his boxer briefs down to his ankles, not bothering to pull them off the whole way as she came to straddle his body. His eyes slowly traveled up her body, his hands moving to her rounded breasts, her chest moving rapidly with her heavy breathing. She reached up to pull the elastic out of her ponytail and he was mesmerized by the way her long, espresso colored, unruly waves cascaded down over her shoulders and down her back. She was still in her thong but he hooked a finger over the part that T'd down her center, moving it slowly to the side while his other finger came up to touch her wetness, to see for himself how much she'd been missing him. He hissed at the slippery silk against his fingertips, almost coming just from that, from knowing how much she needed him.

He pushed her thong to the side and wasted no time, taking himself in one hand and one of her hips in the other, and pushing straight up inside her as he pulled her hips down hard to meet him. Her resulting wail of pleasure echoed off the walls of her apartment and he immediately felt her clamp down and tighten around him, coming instantly. She shuddered above him, moaning out her breaths. He took no mercy on her, his dick twitching and jerking inside of her, and clenching his jaw, he grabbed her hips and coaxed her into a ride on him. Her hands came to his chest, pressing down as her head tilted back. Her hair tickled his hands as she continued to moan, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Ah, shit," Tuck hissed softly. "You feel so fucking good, Chase." She felt better than good; she felt amazing and unbelievably tight. He knew he couldn't have this with any other woman; it was Chase or it was nothing for him.

"Tuuuuuck," she whined out. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes still shut. "Oh, _shit, Tuck_!"

She came again, her body convulsing as he felt her little muscles flutter around him tightly. It was simply too much, had been too long and she felt too good, and Tuck clenched his jaw and groaned, succumbing to his own orgasm, hot and thick, shooting up inside her.

She collapsed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her as they both struggled to breathe. After a moment, he sat up with her still pressed against him and smoothed her hair back from her face. He brought her face to his and kissed her gently, watching her as he did, the way her lids fluttered closed and she made a sound of pleasure in her throat.

The air conditioning in the apartment kicked on and she shivered in his arms. He moved her off of him gently and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him.

"Let's have a lie down," he said softly, and she led him to her bedroom.

Her queen-size bed was covered with a thick comforter and piled high with pillows. As she pulled the covers back and he climbed in with her, he inhaled deeply; it smelled just like her. It smelled wonderful. He pulled her back against his chest and dropped a kiss on her temple as they settled into a warm, sleepy afterglow.

:O:O:O:

A couple hours later, they lounged in her bed, eating pizza and drinking wine. Her television was on but neither of them were watching it.

"So," Tuck said, watching as she lustily pulled off a bite of hot, cheesy pizza. The slice was folded carefully between her fingers and he smiled to himself, shaking his head. _Such a bloody New Yorker._

She shifted her eyes to his, lifting her brows as she chewed.

"I owe you an explanation," he said, "of why you didn't hear from me for a month."

"A month and six days," she corrected wryly.

"A month and six days," he repeated. "We were getting quite busy toward the end, gathering all sorts of intel and company secrets to wrap the case. We were so close. It consumed me. I felt like, if I worked really, really hard, the faster we could be done and the faster I could get back to you. And I stopped checking my email. I stopped checking my phone. All I did was spend my time gathering all the bloody information we needed to. I barely even spoke to FDR, sweetheart, and we lived in the same place. If you ask him, he'll tell you that I became a different person. It doesn't excuse making you worry for me, or feeling like I moved on. I never did. In a weird way, I acted like an inconsiderate fuck for you." He chuckled. "It's entirely backwards, but you were my end-goal."

She set her slice back down in the pizza box at the foot of the bed and tilted her head, staring into his eyes. He didn't know if she believed him or not, but he was being absolutely sincere. He'd gone slightly mad those last couple months; he'd never been more anxious to come home than he had been then.

Finally her hand came to his cheek, and he closed his eyes as it slid down his face. He reached out, grasping her waist under the sheet wrapped around her and brought himself closer to her, her closer to him.

"I can understand that, I guess," she said quietly. "I'm not oblivious to being somewhere for an extended period of time and wanting to come home so badly you can taste it."

"D'you forgive me then, sweetheart?" he murmured, his eyes half closed as he traced lazy circles on her arm.

"Just this once," she replied. "But it's hard to be mad at you when you're lying naked in my bed." She lowered her face to his to kiss him deeply and he slid his hand into her hair, gripping it hard.

"You might be mad at me after I tell you, I have to go back to LA on Sunday," he whispered. "I've got to be in the office on Monday."

She half-smiled and shook her head. "Nope. Still not mad. _Sad_, but not mad."

"No?" he replied, using his thumb to get her to tilt her head so he could kiss down the column of her throat, teething her collarbones gently.

"Tuck," she said earnestly. "I hate being apart from you."

He looked into her eyes. "I hate being apart from you as well." He hesitated. "Would you…is there _any_ part of you that would consider coming west?"

She swallowed, fixing her eyes on him. "Is that what you really want?" she asked quietly. "You want me to move out to LA?"

"Don't you like it out there?" he asked. "I know New York is your home but…you could have a life out there. With me. I would come east, sweetheart, I promise I would, but I couldn't be away from Joe like that."

"No," she said, touching his face. "I would _never_ want you away from Joe like that." She exhaled. "I'm going to talk to my boss on Monday. About a transfer."

His eyes lit up and she smiled, knowing she'd made the right decision. He leaned forward, pressing her onto her back and staring down hard at her.

"You really are?" he demanded. "You're doing this because you want to? Not because of anything else?"

"I'm doing it for you," she said. "And for me." She smiled and reached up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him down.

As his lips moved over hers and he pressed her deeply into the pillows, nudging her thighs apart with a knee, she knew she'd made the right decision; she knew she couldn't live without him - not happily.

:O:O:O:

Chase's thirtieth birthday fell on a chilly, crisp fall Saturday, and the entire family gathered in the backyard of Nana's house to celebrate it.

Chase looked around admiringly. The woman really knew how to decorate and how to host a party. She'd placed hay bales around the backyard, and even had an antique wagon set up and decorated with pumpkins, squash, cornucopias and wreaths. There was a fire pit in the middle of the yard, blazing merrily. Instead of being country or cheesy, it was elegantly seasonal and incredibly cheerful.

She'd had an amazing day, the get-together at Nana's the icing on the proverbial cake. Tuck had woken her up with amazing sex followed by breakfast in bed, and then had arranged for her, Lauren and Trish to go to a spa for a day of pampering. He, FDR and Bob had met up with them for lunch, but Tuck had had to go to a meeting right after, even though it was a Saturday. But it wasn't unheard of in their line of work, so she understood. After lunch, she, Lauren and Trish had done a little shopping and Chase had returned to her place to get ready for Nana's, Tuck picking her up shortly after.

Besides being the season of her birthday, fall was Chase's favorite time of the year, and she thought she'd really miss New York's autumn. While fall in LA couldn't compare, she was pleasantly surprised, although she'd been warned that it was a fluke.

"Don't get used to it," Tuck had warned.

"Must be in honor of my first birthday out west," she'd teased.

Her transition to the anti-terror unit in LA had been seamless. Her boss in New York had been really sad to see her go, but supported the transition. She'd found a small loft downtown and had signed a six-month lease, but at the end of the six months, she knew she'd just end up moving to Tuck's place, or they would look for a bigger place together. They practically lived together now as it was, only breaking off to go "home" for clothes and to make sure that they hadn't acquired squatters. He was her other half, her equal, her partner. Being with him was better than she could ever have hoped for.

Her friendship had cemented with Lauren and Trish and they always had weekly girls' nights. Additionally, they all enjoyed frequent get-togetherness as a group of six. It had been a great three months. Chase missed and loved New York, but her life in LA was fulfilling and extremely satisfying.

Chase glanced around the yard, seeing the usual suspects. She was sad that her parents couldn't be present for her milestone birthday and her first one away from home, but she'd Skyped with them earlier that morning and despite her insistence that they not do so, they'd sent a large package full of gifts.

She noticed two older people milling about the yard, people she'd never seen before, and saw five extra place settings on one of the elegant picnic tables that Nana had set out.

"Who are they?" she asked Tuck in a whisper, gesturing toward a middle-aged couple.

Tuck smiled at her. "Come with me."

He led her by the hand across the yard toward the couple. They turned and smiled warmly at her. Before they could say anything, Tuck lifted Chase's hand and held it against his chest.

"Mum, Dad," he said. "This is Chase."

Chase gaped at him, then recovered quickly as Tuck's mother reached out to embrace her.

"Hello, darling," she said warmly. "Happy birthday. We've heard so much about you. You're every bit the lovely young woman Tuck said you are."

"'Ello, lovely," Tuck's father said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you! It's so nice to meet you both!" she exclaimed. "Tuck didn't tell me you were coming into town."

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he said, smiling. "I picked them up at the airport this afternoon."

She glared playfully at him. "That's where you went when you said you had an off-site meeting."

"It wasn't a lie," he insisted, smiling. He glanced over her shoulder, and his smile widened. "Hello," he said to someone behind her.

She turned and saw her parents standing behind her, her mother smiling at her tearily as her father clasped Tuck's hand. She gasped, a hand going to her chest.

"Mom," she exclaimed. "Daddy!"

"Hey, baby," her father said, hugging her tightly. "Happy birthday."

Her mother was next to hug her, unable to verbalize anything sensical as she was choked with tears. Chase was completely overwhelmed and looked at Tuck, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks but she willed them to stay.

"You did this?" she whispered to him over her mother's shoulder. He smiled in reply, reaching out to stroke a finger down her cheek.

She was even more amazed when her parents and Tuck's parents turned to each other and started chatting together as though they'd known each other their whole lives. Chase stood back and just watched, feeling slightly dazed as she brought a hand to her forehead.

"When did you guys get in?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"This afternoon, with Tuck's parents," her mother replied. "They flew into New York and we spent some time together before we flew out here. And we didn't tell you because it was meant to be a surprise!"

"You flew out here together?" she asked.

"We did, thanks to the amazing man in your life," her mother answered, running her hand through Chase's waves like she used to when she was a little girl. "You're a very lucky woman."

"Besides being a birthday surprise for you," Tuck said, smiling gently at her, "I thought it prudent that my parents meet the parents of the woman I'm madly in love with. And the woman."

She smiled back and was about to reply when Tuck's eyes strayed over her shoulder again.

"Oh, hello," he said warmly and Chase whirled and gasped.

"Mrs. Brown!" she exclaimed, rushing to embrace her former landlady. The white haired woman hugged her back tightly.

"It's so good to see you, dear!" the woman said. "Happy birthday. You look wonderful. I'm glad you're here to stay."

Chase had contacted the landlady when she had first returned to New York, letting her know she could resume her business, and that she was sorry she had to leave before saying goodbye. She had gone to see Mrs. Brown when she had first arrived back in LA, but hadn't seen her since.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Nana announced, "but how about a pre-dinner toast?" Trish and Lauren started passing out flutes of champagne. Joe got a flute of cream soda.

"Champagne, love?" Tuck said, handing her a flute. She took it and accepted a kiss with it.

"What are we toasting?" she asked, noting that everyone had migrated toward the cheery, warm fire pit. Nana had her arm around Joe, and her parents were standing next to Tuck's. Lauren and FDR had their arms wrapped around each other, and Trish was snuggled into Bob's side. As Chase looked around at them, she had a sudden feeling that everything was right, just how it should be.

"In addition to your birthday, we are celebrating the fact that you've made a new life out here, that you've been flourishing, and that you have somehow become mad enough to want to hang out with me on a relatively regular basis."

"I might be starting to come to my senses," Chase said with a smirk.

"No way!" Lauren exclaimed.

"You're right," Chase said, smiling at her friend.

"Lucky for me," Tuck said, leaning in for another kiss. "To Chase. Happy birthday."

He lifted his flute as everyone took up the toast. The air was filled with the sound of clinking glasses. She sipped her champagne and gave Tuck another kiss.

"To family and friends," she added, lifting her flute again. Again, the group took up the toast.

"And to madness," Tuck added in her ear. Chase turned to clink her flute to his but he wasn't standing anymore; he had knelt down in front of her and for a moment, she thought he'd dropped something.

Then, he extended his hand toward her, and in his hand was a box. The box was opened, and the bright fire made the contents of the box glow.

Chase swallowed hard and clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Chase," Tuck said quietly. "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met in my entire life. I'm quite certain I fell in love with you the first moment I laid eyes on you. You've made me a better man, a better father, and a better friend. You even saved my life a few times." He smiled crookedly as everyone laughed; only a handful of them knew how true that was. "I have just one more thing I need from you, though." He removed the glowing object from the box and reached for her hand; it trembled in his, but her fingers clutched his.

"I need you to become my wife and make me the happiest man on earth." He cocked his head teasingly, lifting his scarred eyebrow at her. "D'you think you can do that?"

"I think so," she managed, letting a tear slip down her cheek. "I think I can handle that."

He slipped the ring on her finger, grinning broadly, and Chase literally bounced up and down lightly until he rose to his feet and swept her up in his arms. Her mother and his were both openly weeping, and her father was smiling proudly, nodding his head and clapping.

_He knew_, Chase realized as everyone started to clap and cheer.

She turned Tuck's face toward hers so she could look into it. "I love you," she whispered. "You're amazing. I really want to marry you."

"Good," he whispered back with a grin. "You're sort of obligated to do so now, we have an audience and I know where you live if you try to escape."

"You're sort of creepy," Chase said, "but also romantic."

"Cromantic," Tuck replied. "Think you can live with that?"

"I know I can," Chase answered with a wide, gentle smile, leaning toward him. "Looking forward to it, actually."

His lips latched onto hers, and Chase squeezed her eyes shut tightly, reveling in the embrace of her unexpected partner, friend, and lover.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N - haha! Betcha thought I was gone, huh? **

**Epilogue**

Chase settled into her desk and clacked away on her laptop, smirking as she listened to Tuck and FDR argue over which Godfather film was the best.

"The book was fucking epic, bro," FDR exclaimed, placing his hands behind his head incredulously and leaning back in his chair. "It's all about the first movie. I seriously don't understand how you don't get that."

"You're fucking mad," Tuck shot back, leaning across his desk and jabbing his pen toward his best friend. "The second film explored Vito's backstory and how he came to power and even established the Corleone empire - _also_ outlined in the book! There would be no Godfather I without the backstory of Godfather II. Baby!"

Chase jumped, not expecting to be brought into the conversation. "Yes? I'm not sure I want to be part of this."

"Tell him Godfather II is the best one of all."

"What I'm going to tell you both," she said slowly, pulling her black framed glasses down her nose, "is that you should find something productive to do, like, I don't know..._work_?"

"_Excuse me,_" FDR said, wounded. "I'll have you know that I have worked incredibly hard today. For at least ten consecutive minutes."

"Get out of my partner's desk chair," Chase said impatiently. She was in her own office area, reading several dossiers on a new case, when the two men had brought their battle into her office.

"Fine, mate, let's leave her alone," Tuck said, eyeing his fiancée. "Apparently she has more serious work to do than to discuss the merits of Francis Ford Coppola films." He started to follow FDR out of the office but turned back, giving her a puppy dog expression. "Can't I have a kiss first, though, sweetheart?"

Chase tried to frown at him, but couldn't help bursting out laughing. "Of course you can," she said. "Bring those lips over here."

He grinned widely and leaned over her desk. She grabbed the front of his T-shirt and hauled him in, pressing her lips against his hard and then pulling back with a dramatic _smack_ of her lips.

"Now go!"

Still grinning, he ducked out of her office and hit the stairs.

"Agent Moreno," Collins said a moment later from her doorway. "Could you come to my office? I'd like to discuss this case with you."

Chase pushed away from her desk and followed the site director to her office.

"Moreno, we've got intel that the al-Fahsihd family is getting ready to move. Our chatter tells us that they're trying to gather support in France to launch an attack against the U.S. Embassy in France, steal state secrets and try to sell them to our enemies."

Chase folded her arms and pursed her lips, her mind already springing into action.

"I'd like you to head up this case with Baker. He needs the experience."

"Baker?" Chase groaned. "He's a _kid_." Her new partner was twenty-two and completely green to the CIA. He'd been paired with Chase temporarily as she was one of the more experienced, senior agents and he could learn a lot from her. She knew he'd work one major case with her and be sent to someone else. FDR and Tuck gave her endless shit about it.

"Baker might be green, but he's not totally inept," Collins reminded her. "He's smart, proficient with weapons and has had some brilliant ideas." She studied the agent's sour expression and tried a different approach. "How do you feel about Paris in the wintertime?"

Chase's ears perked up.

"Did you say Paris?"

**And there we have it, my dears. I hope you liked this story as much as I loved writing it. I truly TRULY appreciate all of you who read, followed, favorited and reviewed this story. And now for a special announcement - there will be a sequel! More Tuck and Chase and this epilogue set up the premise for the next story :-) stay tuned!**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**


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